LEISURE  LABORS; 


OR, 


MISCELLANIES 


HISTORICAL,  LITERARY,  AND  POLITICAL. 


BY 


JOSEPH   B.   GOBB. 


NEW  YORK: 
D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY, 

846   &  348  BROADWAY. 
1858. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857,  by 

D.  APPLETON  «fc  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk'*  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


TO  THE 

HON.   WILLIAM   L.    SHARKEY. 

OP  MISSISSIPPI, 

Eminent  alike  as  a  jurist,  a  statesman,  and  the  friend  of  general  litera- 
ture, I  dedicate  this  book,  as  an  humble  evidence  of  the  high  value  I  set 
upon  his  friendship,  and  of  my  appreciation  of  those  qualities  of  charac- 
ter which  have  drawn  to  him  such  universal  attachment  and  respect. 

J.  B.  C. 
LONGWOOD,  Aiigust,  1857. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

THOMAS  JEFFEESON 5 

A.  REVIEW  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  WILLIAM  H. 

CEAWFOED 131 

MACAULAY'S  HISTOEY  OF  ENGLAND 248 

WILLIS'S  POEMS 301 

LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS 330 

SLAVERY  AND  THE  SLAVE  TEADE  IN  THE  DISTEICT  OF 

COLUMBIA 357 

THE  TEUE  ISSUE  BETWEEN  PARTIES  IN  THE  SOUTH  :  UNION 

OR  DISUNION..  376 


THOMAS  JEFFEKSON.* 

THIS  is  quite  an  old  book,  but,  under  the  circum- 
stances of  the  day,  not  too  old  to  be  examined,  or 
rather  re-examined,  and  brought,  along  with  its  distin- 
guished subject,  to  the  test  of  a  critical  review.  For 
reasons  which  may  appear  during  this  examination,  we 
begin  by  expressing  our  sincere  regret  that  such  a 
work,  in  view  of  all  its  contents,  was  ever  given  to  the 
world ;  and  we  are  as  little  able  to  appreciate  the 
motive  as  we  are  to  admire  the  taste  which  prompted 
the  editor  to  compile  and  publish  such  a  series: — A 
series  of  private  papers,  containing  indeed  many  things 
extremely  interesting  and  valuable  as  political  history, 
but  suggesting  much  that  is  painful  in  the  same  con- 
nection, and  subjecting  his  venerable  relative  to  a 
criticism  that  might  have  slumbered  but  for  this  un- 
wary challenge.  We  have  long  been  of  the  opinion, 
that  sons  or  immediate  relatives  of  deceased  statesmen, 
whose  lives  have  been  commingled  with  the  fierce  po- 
litical storms  of  the  republic,  should  be  the  very  last 
persons  who  undertake  the  task  of  giving  to  the  world 
the  life,  character,  and  correspondence  of  their  fathers. 

*  Memoir,  Correspondence,  and  Miscellanies,  from  tlie  papers  of 
Thomas  Jefferson.  Edited  by  THOMAS  JEFFERSON  RANDOLPH.  Boston 
and  New  York.  1849. 


6  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

It  is,  under  any  circumstances,  and  by  whomsoever  it 
may  be  undertaken,  a  task  of  great  delicacy,  requiring 
the  clearest  faculties  of  discrimination,  the  nicest  sense 
of  prudence,  and  the  nicest  guarded  vigilance.     It  is 
rare  that  sons,  or  relatives,  can  lay  themselves  under 
such  restraint  when  their  subject  is  viewed  only  in  the 
light  which  affection  dictates  ;  one  to  whose  faults  filial 
tenderness  and  respect  have  kindly  blinded  them,  and 
whose  virtues  shine  to  their  vision  with  a  lustre  which 
the  golden  eye  of  the  world  receives  undazzled.    De- 
formities appear  where  least  expected,  and  are  evolved 
from-  passages  and  scenes  which  seemed  to  a  partial 
judgment  only  as  so  much  that  was  bright  and  honor- 
able ;  and  while  charity  may  lift  its  soft  mantle  to  shield 
the  motive  from  harsh  impeachment,  it  cannot  disarm 
criticism  of  its  legitimate  province,  nor  be  suffered  to 
detract  from  the  truth  of  history.     When  the  angler 
casts  his  hook  into  the  stream  it  is  not  for  him  to  select 
what  he  brings  up.     He  must  be  content  to  abide  the 
issue.     And  while  we  are  fully  willing  to  allow  to  the 
poet  or  the  painter,  all  the  indulgences  which  the  "  Ars 
Poefica  "  claims  for  them  on  the  score  of  craft^  we  can- 
not consent  to  apply  a  like  rule  to  biographers  and 
historians,  nor  even  to  those  who  make  their  appear- 
ance before  the  world  under  the  less  pretending,  but 
not  less  responsible   character   of  editors   of  private 
papers  and  correspondence.     These  last  may,  indeed, 
be  shielded  from  much  that  the  two  first  do  not  hope 
to  escape  ;  but  they  are  fairly  and  fully  liable  in  the 
way  of  taste,  judgment,  and  that  method  of  argument 
which  looks  to  attain  by  inferences  from  ingenious  col- 
lation and  compilation,  the  same  end  that  might  be 
less  easily  accomplished  by  a  different  and  more  direct 
course. 

We  sfiall  not  deviate  from  the  immediate  objects  of 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  7 

this  review  to  find  fault  with  our  editor's  preface.  It 
does  not  encroach  on  modesty,  and  infringes  naught  of 
that  propriety  which  should  govern  the  form  of  a  pub- 
lication emanating  from  a  source  so  intimately  allied 
with  its  distinguished  subject.  Indeed,  he  could  not 
have  said  less,  or  said  better,  if  he  said  any  thing  at  all ; 
and  if  Mr.  Randolph  could  have  squared  his  selection 
and  compilation  by  as  perfect  a  rule  of  taste,  our  pen 
might  never  have  been  employed  in  its  present  task. 

The  life,  character,  and  public  career  of  Thomas 
Jefferson  are  identified  with  much  that  is  glorious  and 
interesting  in  the  early  history  of  these  United  States, 
and  the  struggle  for  independence  that  resulted  in 
their  severance  from  the  parent  country.  The  first 
germs  of  that  mighty  intellect  which  afterwards  im- 
pressed itself  on  every  department  of  the  government, 
and  diffused  its  influences  so  widely  through  every 
class  of  our  people,  were  called  into  life  in  the  dawn 
of  that  troubled  era.  Its  blossoms  expanded  and  open- 
ed with  the  progress  of  the  Revolution,  and  ere  yet  the 
old  Continental  Congress  met  beneath  the  sycamores 
of  Independence  Square,  its  fruits  had  ripened  in  the 
fullest  and  most  luxurious  maturity.  The  events  amidst 
which  he  had  been  forced  into  manhood  were  too  hur- 
ried and  interesting,  the  opening  scenes  of  the  drama 
too  exciting  and  startling,  and  their  promise  too  en- 
ticing, not  to  draw  out  in  full  strength  and  majesty  the 
richest  treasures  of  one  of  the  master  minds  of  the 
period,  and  develope  in  the  inception  those  peculiar  and 
vast  powers,  which,  but  for  their  occurrence,  might 
have  lurked  under  ground  for  long  years  subsequently, 
and  in  all  probability,  might  never  have  reached  the  same 
enviable  climax.  Nor  did  he  enter  on  the  scene  grudg- 
ingly, or  by  insensible  degrees.  His  heart  was  fired 
from  the  beginning,  and  his  first  advance  into  the  very 


8  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

body  of  the  melee.  He  staked  all,  and  became  at  once, 
and  among  the  earliest,  one  of  the  responsible  person- 
ages of  the  struggle.  The  memoir  or  autobiography 
with  which  the  volumes  before  us  open,  affords  a  very 
sufficient  clew  to  explain  this  precocious  ardor.  When 
the  great  debate  in  the  Virginia  House  of  Burgesses 
against  the  Stamp  Act  took  place,  Jeffersgn,  as  he  tells 
us  himself,  was  yet  a  student  of  law  at  Williamsburgh. 
Among  the  members  who  participated  was  Patrick 
Henry.  His  genius  had  then  just  burst  from  obscurity, 
and  an  eloquence  scarcely  akin  to  earth  had  dazzled  all 
Virginia — an  eloquence  which  lives,  as  it  must  ever 
live,  in  tradition  alone.  The  circumstances  were  most 
thrilling — the  occasion  pne  of  intense  anxiety..  The 
annunciation  of  the  Stamp  Act  had  thrown  a  feeling  of 
despondency  and  gloom  over  the  entire  republic. 
Hearts  which  had  never  faltered,  spirits  which  had 
never  quailed,  minds  which  had  never  shrunk  before, 
seemed  now  on  the  point  of  giving  way.  Even  the 
presses,  which  heretofore  had  sounded  nothing  short 
of  direct  rebellion,  were  manifestly  confounded,  and 
their  tone  changed  suddenly  from  resistance  to  con- 
solatory appeals  and  submission.  It  was  evident  that 
the  dreaded  crisis  was  at  hand.  "  It  was  just  at 
this  moment  of  despondency  in  some  quarters,  of  sus- 
pense in  others,  and  surly  and  reluctant  submission 
wherever  submission  appeared,  that  Patrick  Henry 
stood  forth  to  rouse  the  drooping  spirit  of  the  people, 
and  to  unite  ail  hearts  and  hands  hi  the  cause  of  his 
country."  He  projected  and  moved  the  celebrated 
resolutions  in  opposition  to  the  Stamp  Act,  and  resolved 
to  support  their  adoption  with  the  full  and  concen- 
trated force  of  that  supreme  oratory,  which  swept, 
tempest-like,  from  one  quarter  of  the  confederacy  to 
the  other, — thrilling,  trumpet-toned,  and  resistless — 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  9 

and  nerved  even  weakness  to  lift  an  opposing  voice. 
Jefferson  was  a  listener  from  the  lobby.  His  young 
and  ardent  mind  drank  in  eagerly  the  inspiring 
draughts,  and  his  bosom  throbbed  with  emotions  of 
unknown,  inexplicable  ecstasy.  The  display,  so  splen- 
did, so  unnaturally  original,  and  so  overpowering  in  its 
effects  and  influences,  took  his  imagination  captive,  and 
enchained  his  senses  with  dream-like  delight.  The 
elements  of  sympathy  were  too  strong  to  resist  the 
effort,  and  his  judgment  followed  his  imagination.  "  He 
appeared  to  me,"  says  the  memoir,  "  to  speak  as 
Homer  wrote."  This  thought  gave  birth  to  the  after 
man.  All  the  entrancing  pictures,  and  vivid  scenes, 
and  splendid  imagery  of  the  Iliad  were  here  brought, 
by  a  magic  stroke,  in  full  embodiment  and  bewildering 
reality.  America  oppressed — struggling — imploring — 
was  a  theme  more  alluring  than  "  the  weightier  matter 
of  the  law ; "  and  fancy,  returned  from  the  flaming 
walls  and  crimsoned  rivers  of  Troy,  found  in  the  suf- 
ferings of  Boston  the  living  semblance  of  imagined 
woes,  and  fastened  there  with  a  tenacity  that  soon  en- 
listed the  strongest  sympathies  of  his  towering  mind. 
The  impression  thus  made  was  never  forgotten,  but 
strengthened  with  daily  reflection ;  and  we  are  at  ho 
loss  to  account  for  that  restless  ardor  and  untiring 
energy  which  characterized  Jefferson  through  every 
and  all  phases  of  the  great  strife  that  followed. 

Four  years  subsequent  to  this  period,  Jefferson  had 
become  a  member  of  the  General  Assembly.  The  in- 
sulting and  arrogant  address  of  the  British  Lords  and 
Commons  on  the  proceedings  in  Massachusetts  was  the 
first  matter  which  engaged  attention  at  the  opening  of 
the  session.  Jefferson  took  a  prominent  and  undis- 
guised part  in  getting  up  counter  resolutions,  and  an 
address  to  the  King  from  the  House  of  Burgesses.  A 
1* 


10  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

dissolution  by  the  Governor  followed,. but  the  patriots 
met  by  concert  in  a  hall  of  the  Raleigh  tavern,  called 
the  Apollo,  and  there  drew  up  articles  of  association 
against  any  further  commercial  intercourse  with  Great 
Britain.  Copies  were  signed  and  distributed  "among 
the  people,  and  the  people  sanctioned  the  proceedings, 
foiling  to  re-elect  those  only  who  had  given  reluctant 
assent  to  the  course  of  the  majority.  Lord  Botecourt 
was  excitable,  a  thorough  Briton  in  feeling  and  prepos- 
session, and,  as  might  naturally  have  been  supposed, 
violently  opposed  to  the  pretensions  of  the  American 
colonies.  Angry  contests  followed.  In  the  interval  he 
was  succeeded  by  Lord  Dunmore.  Dunmore,  already 
incensed,  was  still  more  impracticable  and  unapproach- 
able, and  vastly  more  obstinate  and  imperious  than 
even  Botecourt.  As  it  happened,  an  interregnum  of 
comparative  quiet  followed.  The  Governor,  flippant 
and  vain-glorious,  grew  inordinately  sanguine.  But, 
in  the  meanwhile,  a  new  storm  was  darkening  the 
horizon.  In  the  spring  of  1773  a  grievance  of  a  char- 
acter far  more  aggravating  than  any  which  had  yet 
been  considered,  became  a  topic  of  discussion  in  the 
:ubly.  This  was  the  institution  by  Great  Britain 
of  a  Court  of  Inquiry,  with  power  to  transfer  to  Eng- 
land, persons  committed  for  offences  in  the  American 
colonies.  Opposition  to  this  at  once  became  universal 
and  alarming.  It  was  even  regarded  with  more  abhor- 
rence than  the  stamp  act  or  the  duty -on  tea.  It  caused 
ihc  most  conservative  and  moderate  to  despair  of  re- 
conciliation with  the  mother  country.  Voices  which 
hitherto  had  been  silent,  now  raised  the  cry  of  resist- 
ance— resistance  to  the  extremity.  Fuel  was  added  to 
tin-  flame  of  revolution.  Rebellion  seemed  inevitable. 
Men  were  convinced  that  it  was  the  only  remedy. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  the  star  of  Independence,  like 


THOMAS   JEFFE&SON.  11 

the  first  light  of  hope,  appeared  on  the  verge  of  the 
horizon.  Its  genial  ray,  though  ephemeral  and  meteoric 
for  the  time,  was  welcomed  as  the  beacon  of  safety. 
Lukewarm  members  of  the  Assembly,  whose  courage 
and  whose  zeal  diminished  as  difficulties  increased,  were 
promptly  thrust  aside,  and  such  spirits  as  Henry,  the 
two  Lees,  Carr,  and  Thomas  Jefferson,  were  placed  in 
the  van.  The  crisis  was  soon  reached.  It  was  pro- 
posed and  carried  at  a  private  meeting  in  the  Apollo, 
that  committees  of  correspondence  and  safety  be  es- 
tablished between  the  colonies.  The  resolutions  to 
this  effect  were  drawn  up  and  prepared  by  Jefferson. 
They  were  proposed,  at  his  suggestion,  by  Dabney 
Carr,  his  brother-in-law.  Of  this  committee,  Peyton 
Randolph  was  appointed  chairman.  Measures  were 
forthwith  taken  to  communicate  their  action  to  the 
different  colonies.  Messengers  were  despatched,  and 
it  is  said  that  those  from  Massachusetts  and  Virginia, 
each  bearing  similar  propositions  and  tidings,  crossed 
on  their  way.  This  presents  a  fair  question  for  his- 
torical research.  We  shall  pause  long  enough  only  to 
give  one  or  two  facts,  and  our  own  inference  from 
those  facts. 

There  cannot,  we  think,  be  any  fair  or  rational  doubt 
as  to  the  real  source  from  which  such  proposition 
originally  emanated.  Universal  suffrage  will  assign  its 
proper  authorship  to  the  distinguished  subject  of  the 
volumes  now  before  ns.  But  that  a  plan  similar  to  it 
in  purpose,  had  been  previously  proposed  by  Samuel 
Adams  in  Massachusetts,  is  a  settled  fact.  As  we  in- 
cline to  think,  after  a  careful  and  minute  examination 
of  the  leading  authorities,  the  Virginia  plan  of  com- 
mittee correspondence  was  intended  to  embrace  all  the 
colonies,  the  Massachusetts  plan  only  the  cities  and 
towns  of  that  particular  province.  A  strong  proof  of 


12  THOMAS   JEFFEKgOff. 

this  is  found  in  the  simple  fact  that  no  such  plan  as 
that  suggested  by  Jefferson  was  ever  submitted  to  the 
Virginia  Assembly  as  coming  from  Massachusetts.  On 
the  contrary,  such  plan  did  reach,  and  was  laid  before 
the  Legislature  of  the  latter  colony  as  a  suggestion 
from  the  Virginia  Assembly.  The  plan  of  interior  or 
local  correspondence  belongs  to  Massachusetts.  The 
plan  of  colonial  inter-communication  originated  in  Vir- 
ginia. The  first  of  these,  we  incline  to  think,  was  the 
most  prudent  and  practical  method,  but  the  latter 
looked  more  to  the  grand  ulterior  result,  viz. :  united 
resistance  to  the  aggressions  of  Britain. 

These  proceedings  happened  early  in  the  spring  of 
1773.  In  the  meanwhile,  events  and  their  consequences 
were  rapidly  combining  to  stir  the  waking  spirit  of 
rebellion,  and  clearly  foreshadowed  the  grand  issue. 
The  interdict  of  Boston  harbor,  or  as-  it  is  commonly 
called,  the  Port  Bill,  passed  the  British  Parliament 
early  in  the  year  succeeding.  The  news  reached  the 
colonies  in  the  spring,  and  thrilled  with  electric  violence 
from  Cape  Cod  to  the  Savannah.  So  far  from  increas- 
ing the  confusion  and  dismay  which  had  followed  on 
the  passage  of  the  Stamp  Act,  or  allaying  the  patriotic 
tumult,  this  intelligence  served  only  to  nerve  the  bolder 
spirits  and  to  re-assure  the  weak.  It  roused  the  people 
from  their  temporary  lethargy,  and  incited  them  to 
prepare  for  extreme  measures.  The  Virginia  Assembly 
moved  promptly  and  unshrinkingly  up  to  the  mark,  and 
passed  a  resolution  setting  apart  and  recommending 
the  first  day  of  June,  on  which  day  the  Port  Bill  was 
to  be  carried  into  effect,  for  a  day  of  fasting  and  prayer, 
imploring  Heaven  to  avert  the  horrors  of  civil  war. 
The  design  was  obvious,  and  the  language  employed 
terribly  significant.  The  Governor  promptly  dissolved 
them;  but  the  spirit  which  animated  the  majority  of 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  13 

those  who  had  passed  the  resolution,  was  not  so  to  be 
subdued.  Jefferson,  although  no  orator  and  never  essay- 
ing to  speak,  had  now  become  the  master  workman  in 
that  distinguished  assembly.  The  work  of  the  House 
was  entrusted  mainly  to  his  discretion  and  guidance, 
although  the  junior  of  many  whose  names  had  already 
become  distinguished.  But  his  whole  heart  and  mind, 
the  entire  energies  of  his  own  nature,  were  given  to 
the  task  he  had  undertaken.  Nothing  was  allowed  to 
distract  or  seduce  him  from  the  pursuit  of  the  grand 
object  which  possessed  him.  The  attractions  of,  a 
polished  society,  the  temptations  of  joyous  social  inter- 
course, -the  allurements  of  a  home  made  cheerful  and 
happy  by  a  lovely  young  wife,  were  all  insufficient  and 
powerless  to  divert  him  for  an  instant.  It  is  hardly, 
then,  to  be  wondered  at  that  a  man  thus  sleeplessly  and 
entirely  absorbed  by  the  startling  events  now  daily 
transpiring,  especially  when  we  consider  that,  even  at 
his  then  early  age,  the  evidences  of  that  strong  and 
towering  intellect,  which  afterwards  lifted  its  possessor 
to  the  side  of  the  greatest  in  the  world,  were  already 
stamped  on  many  an  enduring  monument,  should  have 
been  entrusted  with  the  work  of  a  body  whose  proceed- 
ings were  giving  tone  to  the  sentiments  of  the  entire 
country. 

On  this  occasion  he  was  ready  for  the  emergency. 
The  dissolution  had  scarcely  been  announced,  before 
measures  were  taken  to  hold  a  private  meeting  at  the 
Apollo.  The  members  promptly  assembled,  and  on 
that  night  was  projected  and  passed  the  most  impor- 
tant resolution  ever  adopted  on  the  American  continent. 
It  was  the  initiative  step  of  the  revolution,  the  one 
from  which  all  that  followed  was  -traced,  the  beginning 
which  led  to  the  glorious  end.  This  was  the  proposi- 
tion to  the  various  colonial  committees,  that  delegates 


14  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

should  assemble  in  a  Congress,  to  be  holden  at  such 
place  as  might  be  agreed  on,  annually,  and  to  consider 
the  measures  proper  to  be  adopted  for  the  general  in- 
terest ;  declaring  further,  that  an  attack  on  one  colony 
should  be  considered  an  attack  on  the  whole.  This 
was  in  May.  The  proposition  was  acceded  to;  dele- 
gates were  elected  in  the  August  next  ensuing,  and  on 
the  4th  of  September,  Philadelphia  having  been  agreed 
on  as  the  place,  the  first  Continental  Congress  assem- 
bled in  Independence  Hall.  Its  important  and  splendid 
proceedings  are  known  to  every  reader  of  American 
history.  Jefferson  was  not  then  a  member;  but  in 
March  of  1^75  he  was,  by  general  consent,  added  to 
the  delegation  from  Virginia.  A  second  career  of  ac- 
tion now  opened  before  him.  He  had  passed  through 
the  first  honorably  and  successfully.  Another  was  now 
to  be  ventured,  and  an  enlarged  field  of  labor  and 
usefulness  invited  to  the  trial. 

About  this  time  the  conciliatory  propositions  of  old 
Lord  North,  commonly  known  as  the  Olive  branch, 
were  submitted  by  Gov.  Dunmore  to  a  special  session 
of  the  Virginia  Assembly.  It  was  found,  on  close 
examination,  to  contain  nothing  which  entitled  it  to  so 
honorable  a  designation ; — artful,  indefinite,  ambiguous, 
and  full  of  that  ministerial  trickery  for  which  the  old 
Premier  was  so  famous.  Jefferson,  at  the  solicitation 
of  many  who  dreaded  its  being  replied  to  from  a  less 
resolute  source,  framed  the  answer  of  the  delegates, 
and,  after  sonte  discussion  and  "  a  dash  of  cold  water 
here  and  'there,'*  the  Assembly  decided  almost  unani- 
mously to  reject  the  proposition.  They  were,  of  course, 
immediately  dissolved,  and  Jefferson  took  his  departure 
for  Philadelphia.  He  was  in  his  seat  on  the  21st  of 
June.  As  an  evidence  of  the  high  esteem  in  which  his 
talents  were  already  held  by  the  members  of  that 


THOMAS    JEFFERSON.  lo 

august  and  venerable  Congress,  he  was  appointed  two 
days  afterward  on  one  of  the  most  important  commit- 
tees of  the  session,  and,  indeed,  of  the  whole  revolution. 
This  was  to  prepare  a  declaration  of  the  causes  of  tak- 
ing up  arms  in  opposition  to  the  exactions  of  the  British 
Parliament.  It  was  a  task  of  the  greatest  delicacy,  and, 
as  the  premonitory  step  to  an  open  and  general  rebellion, 
loaded  with  many  difficulties,  especially  considering  the 
complexion  of  a  portion  of  the  Congress.  There  were, 
even  yet,  many  who  clung  to  the  hope  of  a  speedy  and 
satisfactory  adjustment.  Jefferson  knew  this  well,  and, 
being  a  new  member  and  comparatively  a  young  one, 
he  proposed  to  Gov.  Livingston  to  draw  up  the  paper, 
trusting  alike  to  the  influence  of  his  name  and  charac- 
ter, and  to  the  admirable  beauty  and  readiness  of  his 
pen.  Livingston  haughtily  and  somewhat  impertinent- 
ly refused,  insinuating  to  Jefferson  that  he  was  quite 
too  familiar  for  "  a  new  acquaintance."  The  latter  re- 
ceded with  a  Complimentary  apology,  and  on  the  as- 
sembling of  the  committee,  the  duty  devolved  on  Jef- 
ferson himself.  Not  used  to  shrink  from  responsibility, 
Jefferson  at  once  consented  to  undertake  its  prepara- 
tion. Of  course  it  was  similar  in  its  tone  to  those 
which  had  previously  been  prepared  by  his  pen  in  Vir- 
ginia. Many  objected,  and  Mr.  Dickinson  balked  out- 
right. Dickinson  was  among  the  most  fervent  of  those 
who  yet  hoped  for  a  reconciliation  with  Great  Britain, 
and  in  deference  to  the  scruples  of  one  so  eminently 
honest,  the  paper  was  handed  over  to  him  to  be  put  in 
such  shape  as  would  more  approximate  his  peculiar* 
views.  He  presented  one  entirely  different,  and  as  a 
mark  of  personal  favor  and  indulgence,  it  was  accepted 
and  passed  by  Congress.  Another  paper  from  the 
same  source  was  also  received  and  passed  by  Congress, 
in  the  midst,  however,  of  general  dissatisfaction  and 


16  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

disgust.  This  was  an  address  to  King  George.  Its 
humility  was  inexpressibly  contemptible  ;  but  the  con- 
script fathers  of  America  were  men  of  compromise  and 
moderation, — an  example  which  might  be  patterned 
with  some  profit  by  their  descendants  and  successors. 
But  the  author  was  delighted  with  its  passage,  and 
"  although,"  says  the  Memoir,  "  out  of  order,  he  could 
not  refrain  from  rising  and  expressing  his  satisfaction, 
and  concluded  by  saying,  '  There  is  but  one  word,  Mr. 
President,  in  the  paper  which  I  disapprove,  and  that 
is  the  word  Congress ; '  on  which  Ben  Harrison  arose 
and  said,  4  There  is  but  one  word  in  the  paper,  Mr. 
President,  which  I  approve  of,  and  that  is  the  word 
Congress?  " 

On  the  seventh  of  June,  1V76,  the  delegates  from 
Virginia,  in  accordance  with  instructions,  moved  "  that 
the  Congress  should  declare  that  these  United  Colonies 
are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent 
States ;  that  they  are  absolved  from  all  allegiance  to 
the  British  crown,  and  that  all  political  connection  be- 
tween them  and  Great  Britain  is,  and  ought  to  be,  to- 
tally dissolved ;  and  that  measures  should  be  immedi- 
ately taken  for  procuring  the  assistance  of  foreign 
powers,  and  a  confederation  be  formed  to  bind  the  col- 
onies more  closely  together."  The  reading  of  such  a 
resolution  startled  the  whole  House.  It  was,  in  one 
sense,  the  utterance  of  downright  treason.  But  there 
was  no  avoiding  the  issue.  The  majority  were  resolved, 
and  the  whole  people  called  for  action.  Nor  did  any 
ly  doubt  for  a  moment  the  source  from  which  the 
>lution  sprang.  All  that  was  culpable  and  all  that 
was  meritorious,  its  odium  and  its  popularity  alike  be- 
longed to  Thomas  Jefferson.  Its  tone,  its  wording,  its 
emphasis  and  expression,  all  bore  the  unmistakable 
impress  of  his  mind.  He  watched  its  fate  with  intense 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  17 

anxiety,  and  the  moment  of  its  reception  was  to  him  a 
moment  of  relief  and  of  self-congratulation.  He  felt 
then  as  if  the  die  had  been  irretrievably  cast,  the  Rubi- 
con passed ;  that  the  day  had  at  length  arrived  "  big 
with  the  fate  of  Cato  and  of  Rome."  But  it  encoun- 
tered powerful  and  serious  opposition,  and  from  persons 
and  quarters  where  persevering  opposition  might  have 
defeated  its  passage.  Livingston,  Rutledge,  Dickinson, 
and  some  others,  expressed  doubts  as  to  its  necessity. 
They  argued  that  action  then  would  be  premature,  that 
the  middle  colonies  were  not  ripe  for  revolt ;  that  una- 
nimity was  the  first  thing  to  be  desired ;  that  some  dele- 
gates were  expressly  forbidden  to  yield  assent  to  any 
such  measure ;  that  France  and  Spain  could  not  yet  be 
counted  on ;  that  England  might  find  the  means  of  sat- 
isfying both  of  these  powers ;  and  that,  above  all,  there 
was  prudence  in  delay. 

It  thus  became  apparent  that  New  York,  New  Jer- 
sey, Pennsylvania,  Delaware,  Maryland,  and  South  Car- 
olina, "were  not  matured  for  falling  from  the  parent 
stem."  The  consideration  of  the  resolution  was,  there- 
fore, wisely  postponed  until  the  first  of  July.  But  a 
great  point  had,  nevertheless,  been  gained.  Congress 
agreed  that  a  committee  should  be  raised  for  the  pur- 
pose of  drawing  up  the  form  of  a  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. This  committee  consisted  of  John  Adams, 
Benjamin  Franklin,  Roger  Sherman,  Livingston,  and 
Jefferson.  The  latter  was  again  selected  for  the  duty 
of  preparing  the  draught.  We  approach  this  period  of 
Mr.  Jefferson's  public  career  with  sincere  and  unalloyed 
pleasure.  Envy  does  not  interpose,  malice  itself  has 
invented  naught  to  discourage  that  heartfelt  admiration 
which  fills  all  America  when  contemplating  this  grand 
achievement.  We  feel  the  more  gratification  from  the 
tact  that  in  the  course  of  these  pages,  we  shall  be  com- 


18  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

pelled  to  offer  a  contrast  between  this  and  a  subsequent 
period  of  his  public  life,  which  may  not  be  at  all  favor- 
able to  the  latter. 

On  the  first  of  July,  the  resolution  of  the  Virginia 
delegates  was  taken  up  and  considered.  After  some 
discussion  it  was  passed.  The  vote,  however,  was  not 
unanimous.  Pennsylvania  and  South  Carolina  went 
against  it  directly.  The  New  York  delegation  stood 
off,  approving  the  measure,  but  pleading  the  want  of 
necessary  instructions.  Delaware  was  divided.  When, 
however,  the  committee  rose  and  reported  to  the 
House,  Mr.  Rutledge  requested  that  final  action  might 
be  suspended  until  the  next  day.  The  suggestion  was 
caught  at  eagerly,  and  the  request  granted.  No  door 
was  closed  that  might  preclude  unanimity.  Accord- 
ingly, when  the  ultimate  question  came  up,  the  dele- 
gates from  that  colony  gave  an  affirmative  vote,  though 
they  disapproved  of  the  terms  of  the  resolution.  The 
timely  arrival  of  a  third  member  from  Delaware,  also 
changed  the  vote  of  that  colony ;  and,  in  the  mean 
time,  the  Pennsylvania  delegation  mustering  its  entire 
strength,  cast  her  final  vote  in  favor  of  the  resolution. 
Thus,  out  of  thirteen  colonies,  twelve  gave  their  voices 
for  Independence,  while  New  York  had  no  authority  to 
vote  at  all.  The  result  of  this  vote  closed  all  avenues 
to  a  reconciliation  with  the  mother  country,  and  men's 
minds  were,  from  that  auspicious  day,  turned  wholly;  to 
contemplating  the  means  and  the  method  of  vigorous 
resistance.  But  another,  and  the  most  important,  step 
remained  yet  to  be  taken.  That  was  to  publish  to  the 
world  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  The  vote  on 
the  resolution  had  scarcely  been  announced,  before  a 
report  was  called  for  from  the  committee  which  had 
been  previously  raised  and  charged  with  the^  execution 
of  that  duty.  The  task  of  preparing  the  draught  every 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  19 

body  knew  had  been  assigned  to  Jefferson,  and  all  eyes 
were  turned  instantly  towards  his  seat.  The  members 
sat  in  stern  and  silent  expectation.  The  galleries  and 
lobby,  the  aisles  and  passages  of  the  Hall  were  filled  to 
overflowing,  and  trembled  beneath  the  weight  of  anxious 
and  curious  spectators.  All  who  were  privileged,  and 
many  who  were  not,  had  crowded  within  the  bar,  and 
occupied  the  floor  of  the  House.  While  this  excitement 
was  at  its  height,  Jefferson  rose,  holding  in  his  hand 
the  consecrated  scroll  which  spoke  the  voice  of  freedom 
for  a  New  World.  All  was  calmed  and  hushed  in  a 
moment.  We  may  easily  imagine  the  varied  feelings 
of  that  august  body,  and  of  the  immense  audience,  as 
the  clear,  full-toned  voice  of  the  young  Virginian  sent 
forth  the  melodious  sentences  and  glowing  diction  of 
that  memorable  body  and  revered  document.  The  an- 
nunciative  tone  of  the  first  paragraph  excited  at  once 
the  most  eager  attention.  The  declaration  of  rights 
followed,  and  the  grave  countenances  of  the  delegates 
assumed  an  aspect  of  less  severe  meditation,  and  opened 
with  the  inspiration  of  kindling  hope.  The  enumera- 
tion of  wrongs  done,  and  of  insults  perpetrated,  falls  in 
succinct  cadences  from  the  reader's  lips,  and  the  effect 
is  told  on  frowning  brows  and  crimsoned  cheeks,  and 
in  eyes  flashing  with  aroused  anger,  and  the  throe  of 
bosoms  burning  with  intense  sympathy.  And  when,  at 
the  close  of  this  significant  and  withering  summary  of 
wrongs  and  oppressions^  the  reader  came  to  the  elo- 
quent sentence,  "A  prince  whose  character  is  thus 
marked  by  every  act  which  may  define  a  tyrant,  is  unfit 
to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free  people,"  a  picture  presents  itself 
to  the  mind's  vision  filled  with  thousands  of  glowing 
faces,  marked  with  emotions  of  heartfelt  and  ominous 
approval.  The  conclusion  was  anticipated.  The  in- 
ward pledge  of  "  life  and  fortune,  and  sacred  honor," 


20  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

had  been  registered  long  ere  it  was  reached  in  due 
course,  and  the  form  of  subscription  gave  only  the  out- 
ward sign  of  sanction.  When  Jefferson  sat  down,  he 
took  his  seat  crowned  with  a  fame  that  will  perish  only 
with  the  earth  itself,  and  which  has  linked  his  name 
for  ever  with  American  Independence.  An  ecstasy  of 
patriotism  pervaded  the  entire  audience.  Statesmen 
and  warriors,  divines  and  philosophers,  old  and  young, 
high  and  humble,  were  all  alike  filled  with  sensations 
of  delight,  of  fervor,  and  of  buoyant  hope.  Nor  was 
night  suffered  to  put  an  end  to  the  joyous  manifesta- 
tions. The  people  were  aroused ;  the  spirit  of  revolu- 
tion had  diffused  its  heat  among  the  masses  of  the  city. 
Bonfires  were  lighted  in  the  principal  streets,  and  illu- 
minated windows  sent  forth  their  merry  light ;  spark- 
ling libations  were  quaffed,  and  the."  voluptuous  swell" 
of  music  mingled  with  the  cry  of  "  Freedom  and  the 
American  colonies ! " 

With  all  its  faults,  with  all  its  susceptibility  to  criti- 
cism, we  have  ever  regarded  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence as  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and  eloquent  pro- 
ductions that  ever  came  from  a  human  pen.  Association, 
doubtless,  has  contributed  much  to  induce  this  preposses- 
sion. It  is  right  that  it  should  do  so.  It  is  interwoven 
with  the  dearest  recollections  of  every  true  Ameri- 
can. It  is  whispered  to  him  in  the  cradle ;  it  is  learned 
by  heart  in  the  nursery — the  boom  of  every  cannon  on 
the  Fourth  of  July,  imprints  it  deeper  in  his  memory — 
it  gathers  accumulated  force  in  his  youth — it  is  sacredly 
treasured  in  his  old  age — and  yet,  candor  and  the  facts 
of  history  compel  us  to  the  belief,  that  all  the  glory  of 
its  composition  should  not  be  associated  with  the  name 
of  Jefferson  alone,  although  he  himself  has  laid  exclusive 
.claim  to  its  authorship  in  the  epitaph  prescribed  to  be 
engraven  on  his  tombstone.  Throwing  aside  the  al- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  21 

leged  discoveries  and  researches  of  Mr.  Bancroft,  we 
are  willing  to  go  to  the  record  as  left  by  Jefferson  him- 
self, to  support  the  assertion  stated  above.  The  origi- 
nal draught  was,  doubtless,  prepared  by  Jefferson,  un- 
assisted, and  without  much  consultation.  But  the  orig- 
inal was  vastly  mutilated  and  cut  down  by  the  severer 
pens  of  Adams  and  Franklin,  and  parts  of  paragraphs 
supplied  anew,  particularly  by  the  latter.  It  was 
changed  both  as  to  phraseology  and  sentiment,  and 
materially  improved  in  point  of  taste.  These  facts  will 
be  apparent  to  any  who  will  examine  closely  the  fac 
simile  of  the  original  copy  appended  to  the  memoir 
of  the  book  now  under  review.  As  it  was  first  pre- 
pared, there  was  an  unseasonable  preponderance  of  the 
high-sounding  Johnsonian  verbosity  without  the  pallia- 
tion of  its  elegance.  It  abounded  with  repetition  and 
unmeaning  sententiousness  in  some  parts,  while  para- 
graphs and  sentences  were  prolonged  to  an  extent 
which  might  have  startled  Lord  Bolingbroke  himself, 
who,  however,  would  have  missed  the  grace  and  polish 
of  his  own  didactic  periods.  In  fact,  the  entire  docu- 
ment underwent  a  shearing  process  in  the  revisory 
hands  of  the  author's  coadjutors,  and  was  reproduced 
in  a  shape  that  has  left  it  without  a  parallel  of  its  kind 
in  the  history  of  any  other  nation.  Some  parts  of  it 
were  really  objectionable,  and  would  most  certainly 
have  created  bad  blood  both  in  the  North  and  in  the 
South.  We  allude  to  the  long  denunciation  in  the 
original  draught,  of  commerce  in  slaves,  and  charging 
that  commerce  as  one  of  the  grievances  on  the  part  of 
the  British  monarch.  Two  of  the  Southern  colonies, 
Georgia  and  South  Carolina,  were  clamorous  for  the 
continuance  of  this  traffic.  Citizens  of  the  North  were 
the  carriers  and  merchantmen,  and  it  was,  therefore,  in 
both  cases,  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents.  Where 


22  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

great  movements  are  contemplated,  dependent  on  una- 
nimity for  their  success,  it  is  hazardous  and  impolitic  to 
begin  operations  by  a  war  on  sectional  interests.  Both 
Adams  and  Franklin  knew  this,  and,  although  they 
must  have  agreed  with  Jefferson  in  the  sentiment,  they 
advised  its  total  expunction.  A  few  years  later,  such  a 
clause  might  have  met  with  the  heartiest  reception,  and 
in  this  day  would  have  been  sanctioned  by  all  Christen- 
dom. At  that  time  it  was  an  evil  too  general  to  be  re- 
buked hi  such  a  document,  written,  as  averred,  mainly 
with  a  view  to  "a  decent  respect  for  the  opinions  of 
mankind."  In  IT 7 6  it  would  have  been  a  difficult  mat- 
ter, if  history  is  to  be  believed,  to  have  laid  a  finger  on 
any  portion  of  enlightened  Christianized  mankind  who 
were  not  equally  obnoxious  to  the  charge  of  slave-stealing 
'or  slave-working  as  his  Britannic  Majesty.  We  speak 
of  Governments  or  organized  Societies,  else  we  would 
pause  to  make  an  exception  here  in  favor  of  the  Qua- 
kers. This  body  of  unpretending,  consistent  devotees, 
are  the  only  portion  of  the  Christian  world,  so  far  as 
we  can  now  call  to  mind,  whose  hands  are  clear  of  this 
most  abominable  and  nefarious  traffic. 

That  Jefferson  was  thoroughly  anti-slavery  in  his 
notions,  the  whole  of  his  political  history  in  connection 
with  the  subject  most  conclusively  establishes.  He  was 
so,  conscientiously  and  uncompromisingly.  He  never 
degenerated  into  rabid  or  radical  abolitionism,  but  his 
moderation  and  tolerance  evidently  cost  him  many 
struggles.  He  made  known  this  opposition  to  slavery 
on  every  proper  occasion,  and  before  every  legislative 
body  of  which  he  became  a  member.  We  find  him 
meeting  it  at  every  assailable  point,  heartily  endeav- 
oring to  promote  speedy  emancipation,  and  to  impede 
its  extension.  In  the  first  of  these  objects  he  failed  en- 
tirely. In  the  last,  he  met  with  gratifying  success, 


THOMAS    JEFFERSON.  23 

through  means  of  the  celebrated*  Ordinance  of  1787. 
Among  the  latest  records  of  his  pen,  after  he  had  lived 
nearly  fourscore  years,  is  the  emphatic  prophecy,  "  that 
emancipation  must  be  adopted,  or  worse  would  follow. 
That  nothing  was  more  certainly  written  in  the  book  of 
fate,  than  that  these  people  (the  negroes)  were  to  be 
free."  The  manner  of  this  expression  is  less  that  of  a 
philosopher  than  of  an  enthusiast.  Whenever  he  speaks 
of  slavery  at  all,  he  speaks  of  it  in  terms  never  less 
moderate  than*  those  quoted ;  and  its  opponents  can 
fortify  themselves,  as  we  think,  with  no  more  reliable 
authority  than  the  name  of  him  who  forms  the  subject 
of  these  volumes. 

On  the  fifth  of  September  following  the  declaration 
of  Independence,  Jefferson  resigned  his  seat  in  the  co- 
lonial Congress,  and  became  once  again  a  delegate  to 
the  House  of  Burgesses  of  the  Virginia  Assembly.  He 
entered  at  once  upon  a  difficult  line  of  duties.  He  in- 
troduced bills  establishing  Courts  of  Justice,  to  regu- 
late titles  to  property,  to  prohibit  the  further  importa- 
tion of  slaves  within  the  colony,  to  institute  freedom  of 
opinion  in  religion ;  and  aided  in  reconstructing  the  en- 
tire Statutory  Code  of  Virginia.  Soon  after,  he  was 
made  Governor.  He  then  declined,  successively,  three 
foreign  appointments  from  Congress.  He  served  the 
Commonwealth  with  distinguished  ability  during  the 
darkest  period  of  the  war,  narrowly  escaping,  several 
times,  the  dragoons  of  Tarleton  and  Simcoe.  In  the 
spring  of  1783  he  was  again  appointed  a  delegate  to 
Congress,  then  in  session  at  Annapolis.  He  served 
about  a  year,  when  he  was  again  appointed  to  a  foreign 
mission,  and  this  time  he  accepted.  On  the  sixth  day 
of  July,  1784,  he  arrived  at  Paris,  where  he  was  to  act, 
in  concert  with  Dr.  Franklin  and  John  Adams,  in  nego- 
tiating and  concluding  a  general  treaty  of  commerce 


I 


24  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

with  foreign  nations.  We  design  not  to  dwell  on  this 
portion  of  his  public  services,  as  it  does  not  come  prop- 
erly within  the  range  of  the  object  we  have  in  view. 
He  remained  abroad  until  September  of  1789.  Return- 
ing home,  he  was  appointed  during  the  following  win- 
ter to  the  new  Department  of  State,  under  the  Presi- 
dency of  George  Washington. 

This  ends  the  second  and  brightest,  if  not  the  most 
important  epoch  of  Jefferson's  public  career.  The 
fourth  and  last  may,  indeed,  have  been  philosophically 
and  tranquilly  passed  ;  but  the  third,  on  which  we  are 
now  entering,  is  chequered  alternately  with  light  and 
gloom ;  with  much  that  is  worthy  of  admiration,  with 
more,  we  fear,  that  is  obnoxious  to  censure.  We  pro- 
ceed to  the  task  of  criticism  under  stern  convictions  of 
duty,  but  not  without  reluctance. 

At  this  date  of  his  political  history,  Jefferson  con- 
cludes his  memoir.  Henceforth  we  must  look  to  the 
Correspondence,  and  to  what  other  authorities  may  be 
found  appropriate,  to  complete  the  object  of  our  inqui- 
ries. 

Up  to  the  year  1792,  no  distinct  party  organization 
had  existed.  The  administration,  fortified  in  the  love 
and  respect  of  the  entire  people,  went  on  swimmingly. 
Washington  himself  could  not  be  assailed.  The  other 
members  of  government  were  sheltered  by  the  protect- 
ing ^Egis  of  his  popularity.  But  the  gigantic  financial 
policy  of  Alexander  Hamilton  began  now  to  beget  se- 
rious uneasiness  in  the  minds  of  all  who  dreaded  the 
centralization  of  power  in  the  hands  of  the  General  Gov- 
ernment, and  the  consequent  depreciation  of  the  State 
sovereignties.  The  State  debts  had  been  assumed,  and 
a  large  and  powerful  body  of  creditors  turned  their  at- 
tention to  the  Union,  and  not  to  the  separate  indepen- 
dencies. Duties  were  laid  on  imported  goods,  and  the 


TIIOMAS   JEFFERSON.  25 

merchant  transacted  his  business  under  the  authority 
and  patronage  of  the  United  States.  The  Bank,  which 
now  formed  the  great  connecting  link  of  commerce  be- 
tween the  States,  was  of  federal  origin.  The  manufac- 
turer looked  to  the  Union  for  the  protection  he  needed ; 
and  the  ship-owners  and  seamen  looked  also  to  the  same 
quarter  for  the  same  favor.  A  fierce  opposition  sprang 
up.  It  found  an  adroit  and  a  willing  leader  in  Thomas 
Jefferson.  lie  felt  his  way  cautiously,  secretly,  and  by 
slow  degrees.  But  there  was  one  material  obstruction 
in  the  way  of  an  active  and  effective  opposition.  All 
the  respectable  presses  in  the  country  were  strongly 
federal ;  stout  advocates  of  Washington's  administra- 
tion. Nothing  could  be  done,  so  long  as  this  impedi- 
ment remained  in  the  way.'  Jefferson  soon  fell  upon  a 
plan  to  surmount  it.  His  residence  in  France  during 
the  revolution,  and  his  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
revolutionary  chiefs,  had  schooled  him  in  those  arts  and 
intrigues  which  ripen  party  schemes.  He  had  his  eye 
now  upon  a  man,  the  only  man  perhaps  in  all  America 
admirably  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  the  opposition. 
A  restless,  narrow-minded,  distempered  little  French- 
man, named  Philip  Freneau,  was  then  conducting  a  low 
and  scurrilous  print  in  the  city  of  New  York.  His 
boldness  and  carelessness  of  character,  together  with 
some  fluency  in  the  language  of  the  fish-market,  attract- 
ed the  attention  of  those  who  were  beginning  to  form 
a  plan  of  opposition  to  Washington's  administration. 
Jefferson,  now  Secretary  of  State,  tempted  him,  by  the 
offer  of  a  clerkship  in  his  own  Department,  to  remove 
to  Philadelphia.  The  starving  Frenchman,  whose  most 
s-umptuous  diet  had  been  only  stale  crackers  and  cheese, 
of  course  jumped  at  the  offer,  and  pledged  himself  to 
pursue  with  indiscriminate  rancor,  the  wisest  as  well  as 
the  worst  of  Washington's  measures.  The  National 
2 


26  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

Gazette  was  established,  and  a  repository  of  more  than 
Augean  uncleanness  became  the  head  quarters  of  those 
who  had  raised  their  parricidal  hands  against  the  Father 
of  his  Country.  "During  its  short-lived  existence," 
says  a  modern  author,  "  it  was  notorious  for  its  scan- 
dalous falsehoods  and  misrepresentations,  its  fulsome 
adulation  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  its  gross  abuse  of  lead- 
ing federal  men."  The  example  thus  conspicuously  set, 
has  been  ever  since  assiduously  followed  by  the  party 
which  dates  its  origin  at  this  period,  and  which  claims 
the  powerful  paternity  of  Jefferson's  name  and  princi- 
ples. We  shall  not  contravene  this  claim,  nor  question 
the  authenticity  of  such  origin.  We  believe  that  the 
claim  is  well  founded,  and  the  origin  fairly  attested. 
But  their  efforts  against  Washington  and  his  adminis- 
tration signally  and  ingloriously  failed.  They  did  not 
venture  even  to  name  the  real  object  of  assault.  The 
demonstration  was  made  against  Adams,  the  Vice 
President,  and  Alexander  Hamilton,  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury.  Against  the  administration  of  the  first  they 
subsequently  succeeded ;  while,  in  connection  with  the 
latter,  they  carried  their  design  of  opposition  by  coup- 
ling his  name  with  an  undue  bias  in  favor  of  England ; 
thus  making  use  of  the  ferocious  prejudice  which  still 
existed  against  that  country.  Even  so  late  as  1848,  a 
distinguished  statesman  and  Presidential  nominee  of 
this  same  radical  party,  has  condescended  to  avail  him- 
self of  this  odium,  supposed  to  be  attached  to  Hamil- 
ton's name,  and,  in  the  same  letter  (unwittingly,  but, 
doubtless)  tacitly  admits  his  lineal  party  descent  from 
the  Jacobinical  faction  of  1793,  by  claiming  this  period 
as  "  the  starting  point  of  difference "  betwixt  the  two 
great  "  parties  "  of  the  present  day. 

In  the  summer  of  1794  occurred  the  famous,  or 
rather  infamous,  Whiskey  Rebellion  in  the  State  of 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  27 

Pennsylvania.  The  law  of  '91  had  imposed  a  duty  on 
spirits  distilled  within  the  United  States.  It  was  vio- 
lently menaced  and  resisted  by  the  parties  interested. 
Inspectors  were  insulted,  officers  of  the  excise  tarred 
and  feathered,  marshals  attacked  and  fired  upon.  At 
length  the  patience  of  the  President  was  exhausted ;  he 
marched  an  army  into  the  disaffected  country,  and  the 
insurrection  was  speedily  quelled.  The  opposition  had 
not  discountenanced  the  course  or  the  cause  of  the  riot- 
ers. Some  of  their  presses  had  openly  fomented  and 
excited  the  revolt.  "  It  was  shrewdly  suspected,"  says 
the  same  author  before  quoted,  "  that  Jefferson  did  not 
look  with  very  great  reprobation  on  the  Pennsylvania  in- 
surrection." This  suspicion  has  not  been  controverted, 
but  rather  confirmed,  by  the  tenor  of  his  published  cor- 
respondence, and  opens  a  dark  and  unpleasing  chapter 
of  his  public  history.  Just  previously  to  this  nefarious 
outbreak,  he  had  given  utterance  to  opinions  in  this 
connection  which  would  have  disgraced  Fouche  or 
Robespierre,  and  which  cannot  now  be  characterized 
by  a  less  mild  term  than  atrocious.  Speaking  of  Shay's 
rebellion  in  Massachusetts,  he  had  said,  "God  forbid 
we  should  even  be  twenty  years  without  such  a  rebellion. 
What  country  can  preserve  its  liberties  if  its  rulers  are 
not  warned  from  time  to  time  that  the  people  preserve 
the  spirit  of  resistance?  Let  them  take  arms.  The 
remedy  is,  to  set  them  right  as  to  facts,  pardon  and 
pacify  them.  The  tree  of  liberty  must  be  refreshed  from 
time  to  time  with  the  blood  of  patriots  and  of  tyrants." 
We  venture  the  assertion  that  no  sentiments  more 
anarchical  and  dangerous  can  be  found  in  any  docu- 
ment of  history  from  the  period  of  Machiavelli's 
"  Prince  "  to  Dorr's  Manifesto.  They  are  precisely  the 
sentiments  which  animated  such  men  as  Jack  Cade 
and  Watt  Tyler,  and  Philip  Freneau,  and  Callender, 


28  THOMAS   JEFFEESON. 

and  Citizen  Genet.  The  Russian  Strelitzes  or  the 
Turkish  Janizaries  cannot  be  charged  with  motives 
more  criminal,  or  with  deeds  more  abhorrent  than  such 
sentiments  would  have  brought  about.  The  only  palli- 
ation for^their  utterance  is  to  be  found  in  that  charity 
which  covers  the  zeal  of  a  sincere  though  misguided 
opposition.  The  French  associations  and  prejudices  of 
Jefferson  had  seduced  him  into  a  lamentable  departure 
from  the  safe,  moderate,  and  consistent  revolutionary 
principles  which  marked  the  period  of  1776.  He  had 
heard  the  fierce  debates  of  the  Jacobin  Clubs,  and 
thrilled  under  the  reeking  eloquence  of  Danton  and  his 
tiger-tempered  colleague.  Ah1  the  murders  committed 
by  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal — all  the  blood  which 
flowed  from  the  scaffold  of  the  death-dealing  guillotine 
— the  horrors  of  the  Reign  of  Terror — the  sighs  and 
tears  which  had  made  Paris  the  terrestrial  counterpart 
of  a  hell,  were  insufficient  to  disgust  the  author  of  the 
Declaration  of  American  Independence.  His  philo- 
sophic eye  beheld,  tearless,  the  walking  images  of  bro- 
ken hearts  and  crushed  affections  which  crossed  his  daily 
path,  and  surveyed,  unmoved,  the  mournful  emblems 
which  shrouded  an  entire  city  with  funeral  drapery. 
Nor  do  we  assume  any  too  much  in  saying  this.  The 
memoir  before  us  contains  nothing  which  can  rescue  its 
distinguished  author  from  the  severity  of  the  inference. 
We  find  nothing  in  the  Correspondence  to  explain  the 
omission.  It  may,  therefore,  be  fairly  supposed,  that 
Jefferson  was  not  so  greatly  horrified  at  these  manifold 
and  ceaseless  atrocities  as  ever  to  think  that  the  cause 
of  Liberty,  thus  conducted,  was  the  cause  of  anarchy 
and  of  murder.  We  might  extend  these  inferences 
further.  During  the  reign  of  the  bloody  Triumvirate, 
private  conversations  and  careless  expressions,  uttered 
even  in  the  recesses  of  the  family  circle,  were  made  the 


THOMAS   JEPFEKSON.  29 

plea  for  butchering  the  speakers  on  the  following  day. 
It  is  not  unlikely  to  suppose  that  Jefferson  here  learned 
his  art  of  noting  down  what  occurred  at  dining  tables, 
and  private  parties,  and  social  gatherings,  that  the 
compiler  of  the  volumes  before  us  might  afterwards 
give  to  the  world,  in  the  shape  of  the  "  Ana,"  a  method 
of  espionage  which  would  have  shamed  even  Lavalette 
or  Savary,  and  challenged  attention  from  Bourienne 
himself.  We  would  willingly  have  drawn  a  veil  over 
this  portion  of  the  published  political  works  of  Thomas 
Jefferson.  But  we  consider  that  the  worst  was  done 
when  the  editor  of  these  volumes  passed  the  "Ana" 
into  the  hands  of  the  printer.  It  is  not  for  us  to  find 
fault  with  the  taste  which  prompted  the  publication  of 
a  private  journal.  Our  duty  and  intention  are,  as  the 
undisputed  right  of  a  reviewer,  to  express  our  opinions 
of  the  production.  But  we  must  not  digress  further. 

Thus  imbued  with  the  effects,  if  not  with  the  spirit, 
of  Jacobinism,  Jefferson  had  returned  to  America ;  and 
we  may  thus  account  for  his  opinions  on  Shay's  Rebel- 
lion, his  supposed  sympathy  with  the  Whiskey  insur- 
rectionists, his  intimacy  with  suck  men  as  Callender, 
and  Freneau,  and  Tom  Paine,  and  his-  early  and  insidi- 
ous opposition  to  the  administration  of  George  Wash- 
ington. The  first  object  of  attack  had  been  the  finan- 
cial policy  of  Hamilton,  and  thus  far  we  sanction,  in 
part,  at  least,  this  course  of  policy.  The  views  and  the 
amis  of  that  eminent  minister  have  never  had  entirely 
our  political  sympathies.  There  was,  in  all  his  meas- 
ures, a  too  consolidating  tendency,  which  might  have 
resulted  alarmingly  in  after  days.  But  the  thunders  of 
the  opposition  were  soon  turned  more  directly  against 
Washington  himself  by  a  merciless  assault  on  the  treaty 
of  John  Jay,  which,  it  was  known,  had  received  the 
President's  cordial  approval.  It  was  fought  in  every 


30  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

way  known  to  Parliamentary  warfare,  and  "Washington 
was  goaded  by  every  means  to  which  an  adroit  and  in- 
ventive opposition  could  resort.  It  was  wranglingly 
and  factiously  debated  in  the  Senate,  and  it  was  threat- 
ened with  the  vengeance  of  the  House.  To  crown  all, 
a  resolution  was  brought  forward  by  Livingston,  re- 
questing the  President  "  to  lay  before  the  House  a  copy 
of  the  instructions  to  the  Minister  of  the  United  States, 
who  negotiated  a  treaty  with  the  King  of  Great  Brit- 
ain, communicated  by  his  message,  together  with  the 
correspondence  and  other  documents  relative  to  the 
said  treaty."  This  was  subsequently  qualified  by  a 
clause  to  the  effect,  "excepting  such  papers  as  any 
existing  negotiation  may  render  improper  to  be  dis- 
closed." To  this  resolution  the  President  first  re- 
sponded, "that  he  would  take  the  subject  into  consid- 
eration." He  finally  refused  to  lay  any  such  papers 
before  the  House.  This  refusal  stimulated  the  opposi- 
tion to  increased  bitterness,  and  "  appeared,"  in  the 
language  of  Marshall,  "  to  break  the  last  chord  of  that 
attachment  which  had  heretofore  bound  some  of  the 
active  leaders  of  the  opposition  to  the  person  of  the 
President."  Long  anterior  to  this,  however,  Jefferson, 
although  still  recognized  as  the  head  of  the  opposition, 
had  resigned  his  post  of  State  Secretary,  and  from  his 
retirement  at  Monticello  fulminated  the  signs,  tokens, 
and  passwords  of  determined  and  ceaseless  hostility  to 
the  policy  of  the  administration.  He  had  openly  ridi- 
culed the  course  of  Washington  in  the  Whiskey  Rebel- 
lion, and  had  encouraged,  while  engaged  in  combating, 
the  pretensions  of  citizen  Genet.  He  now  resorted  to 
the  more  candid  warfare  of  denunciation,  and  directed 
the  whole  influence  of  his  name  and  the  whole  power 
of  his  pen  against  the  Jay  treaty.  But  all  would  not 
do.  The  magic  of  Washington's  popularity  continued 


THOMAS   JEFFEBSON.  31 

to  prevail,  and  it  became  evident  that  the  nation  fa- 
vored the  prompt  ratification  of  the  treaty.  It  was 
ratified,  and  the  hopes  of  Jefferson  and  his  now  numer- 
ous friends  had  to  be  postponed  for  a  season. 

On  the  4th  of  March,  1797,  John  Adams  was  inau- 
gurated President  of  the  United  States,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  Thomas  Jefferson  was  sworn  in  as  Vice 
President.  The  character  of  Adams,  according  to  the 
testimony  of  his  best  friends  and  warmest  admirers, 
was  an  anomaly.  "  Of  a  restless  and  irritable  tempera- 
ment," says  a  strong  federal  biographer ;  "jealous  of 
other's  praise,  and  suspicious  of  their  influence  ;  obsti- 
nate and  yet  fickle ;  actuated  by  an  ambition  which 
could  bear  neither  opposition  nor  lukewarmness,  and 
vain  to  a  degree  approaching  insanity,  he  was  himself 
incapable  alike  of  conceiving  or  of  acting  upon  a  settled 
system  of  policy,  and  was  to  others  as  easy  a  subject 
for  indirect  management,  as  he  was  impracticable  to 
more  legitimate  approach.  With  the  noblest  impulses 
and  the  meanest  passions,  he  presents  a  portrait  which, 
in  its  contradictory  features,  resembles  more  the  shift- 
ing image  of  a  dream  than  the  countenance  of  an  actual 
being." 

It  does  not  come  within  the  design  of  this  article 
either  to  endorse  or  to  combat  this  opinion.  We  will 
barely  add  what  the  writer  might  properly  have  added, 
that  the  patriotism  and  native  honesty  of  John  Adams 
were  sadly  blurred  by  a  bad  temper  and  an  excitable 
vindictiveness.  "  As  was  his  character,  so  proved  the 
administration  of  such  a  man ;  flickering,  unstable,  with- 
out fixed  rule  or  definite  object."  The  hitherto  ob- 
structed road  of  the  opposition  was  now  fairly  cleared. 
The  awe  of  Washington's  great  name  stood  no  longer 
in  their  way.  The  far-reaching  sagacity  of  Jefferson 
was  at  work,  and  his  policy  and  plan  of  operations  were 


32  THOMAS  JEFFEKSON. 

soon  developed.  During  the  stormy  period  of  the 
Revolution  he  and  Adams  had  been  attached  and  inti- 
mate friends.  Their  associations  had  been  of  a  charac- 
ter more  than  usually  cordial  and  confidential.  Soon 
after  Jefferson's  return  from  France  they  fell  out,  and 
became  partially  estranged.  But  the  difference  did  not 
quite  amount  to  a  personal  quarrel,  and  they  still  re- 
mained on  civil  terms  of  intercourse.  No  one  knew 
better  than  Jefferson  the  weak  points  in  the  character 
and  constitution  of  John  Adams.  He  believed  firmly 
in  the  honesty  of  his  heart,  but  he  was  well  acquainted 
with  the  instability  of  his  political  opinions ;  with  his 
leaning,  one  day,  to  rank  federalism,  and  the  next,  to 
downright  radicalism.  "  He  (Adams)  by  turns  defend- 
ed the  mob,  and  advocated  hereditary  power."  This 
was  an  open  prey  to  an  ingenious  and  a  watchful  opposi- 
tion, and  Jefferson  did  not  scruple  to  turn  his  private 
knowledge  and  past  associations  to  legitimate  political 
account.  We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  ever  betrayed 
confidence.  Jefferson  had  both  too  much  caution  and 
too  much  pride  of  character  to  act  dishonorably.  It 
may  be  explained  easily  on  the  score  of  ambition  and 
selfishness,  neither  of  which  can  be  denied  to  him  in 
their  fullest  latitude.  But  the  object  was  now  to 
estrange  Adams  from  the  party  which  had  elected  him, 
by  this  move,  to  weaken  the  federalists,  to  destroy  the 
influence  of  Hamilton,  and  clear  the  way  for  the  acces- 
sion of  Jefferson  and  the  Democrats.  The  accomplish- 
ment of  such  a  plan  required  the  most  consummate  ad- 
dress. It  was  not  hard  to  perceive  that  such  requisition 
was  more  than  fulfilled  in  the  person  of  the  acknow- 
ledged leader  of  the  opposition.  Jefferson  was  just 
the  man  to  play  the  game  which  was  now  in  hand.  His 
affectation  was  in  being  plain,  and  his  plainness  of  ap- 
pearance and  intercourse  did  amount  almost  to  unvar- 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  33 

nished  demagoguism.  He  desired  to  be  known  in 
America  by  the  same  popular  cognomen  by  which  Wil- 
liam Pitt  had  been  long  hailed  and  worshipped  in  Eng- 
land, that  of  the  "  Great  Commoner."  Pitt,  however, 
not  only  was  ambitious  to  lead,  but  to  be  thought  to 
lead.  Jefferson,  on  the  contrary,  was  neither  bold 
enough  nor  haughty  enough  to  court  the  latter  distinc- 
tion. He  desired  to  lead,  but  to  make  others  believe 
that  he  was  led.  This,  however,  was  the  choice  rather 
of  policy  than  of  timidity.  He  may  have  lacked  candor 
— he  may  have  been  time-serving,  accommodating,  and 
subservient — but  he  was  not  deficient  in  courage. .  We 
are  told,  indeed,  that  he  had  acquired,  about  this  time, 
a  less  enviable  surname  than  the  one  which  distinguished 
Pitt.  He  was  called  "  The  Trimmer."  But  all  this,  as 
Terry  O'Rourke  would  say,  was  "  a  part  of  his  system." 
He  was  engaged  in  running  a  mine  which,  when  com- 
pleted, was  to  demolish  the  federal  party,  and  he  did 
not  pause  in  his  work  or  stop  to  defend  himself  from 
mere  personal  attacks.  He,  therefore,  set  assiduously 
about  renewing  his  former  intimacy  with  Adams.  It 
was  very  well  known  that  a  portion  of  the  Federalists, 
with  Alexander  Hamilton  at  their  head,  had  manoeuvred 
to  place  Mr.  Pinckney  ahead  of  Mr.  Adams  on  the  party 
ticket ;  and,  if  possible,  to  give  the  Presidency  to  the 
former.  Adams's  hot  temper  rose  to  the  boiling  point 
when  this  was  made  known  to  him,  and  he  set  the 
brand  of  his  never-ending  hatred  on  the  brow  of  Ham- 
ilton. To  foment  this  difference  became  the  chief  end 
of  the  opposition.  Adams  was  adroitly  cajoled,  while 
Hamilton  was  still  more  virulently  assailed.  Jefferson 
addressed  to  him  the  most  seductive  and  weaning  let- 
ters, and  wrote  flatteringly  about  him  to  others. 
Prominent  ultra-democrats,  his  former  personal  friends, 
crowded  his  reception  rooms,  and  baited  him  with  a 
2* 


34:  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

thousand  tempting  morsels,  all  artfully  directed  against 
the  known  vulnerable  points  of  his  character.  The  vain 
old  man  proved  an  easy  victim,  and  fell  unwarily  into 
the  snare.  He  met  cordially  the  advances  of  Jefferson, 
took  Gerry,  one  of  the  most  determined  Democrats, 
into  the  closest  confidence,  and,  in  a  tempest  of  exacer- 
bation and  rage,  drove  many  of  the  warmest  Federal- 
ists from  his  councils  and  his  presence.  This  was  pre- 
cisely what  had  been  played  for  by  the  opposition. 
Their  point  was  gained,  the  fatal  breach  irrevocably 
effected.  In  the  meanwhile  the  difficulties  with  France 
assumed  an  alarming  aspect.  The  conduct  of  the  Di- 
rectory had  become  intolerable.  They  had  first  insult- 
ed the  American  Envoy,  and  then  driven  him  from  the 
French  territories.  A  special  session  of  Congress  was 
called  by  the  President.  The  Federalists  had  a  clear 
majority  in  both  Houses,  and  the  speech  breathed  war 
and  vengeance  against  France,  and  breathed  them  most 
justly.  The  opposition  then  showed  the  drift  of  their 
policy.  Denunciations  the  most  ireful  and  menacing 
were  hurled  against  the  recommendations  of  the  Execu- 
tive, and  against  a  war  with  republican  France.  The 
President  was  roused  to  desperation  by  these  sudden 
and  withering  assaults,  and  followed  up  his  recommen- 
dations with  all  the  influence  of  his  name  and  his  office. 
Measures  were  taken  to  prepare  for  hostilities ;  Wash- 
ington was  drawn  from  his  coveted  retirement  to  be 
invested  once  more  with  the  chief  generalship  of  his 
country's  armies,  and  the  spirit  of  the  nation  seemed 
to  favor  the  course  of  the  Government.  The  result 
might  have  been  auspicious  for  the  administration,  if 
matters  had  been  suffered  to  remain  in  this  situation. 
But  the  temper  of  the  President  was  despotic,  and  the 
least  draught  of  popular  favor  intoxicated  him  with 
vanity.  At  the  next  session  of  Congress,  at  the  espe- 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON*  35 

cial  instance  of  the  Executive,  were  passed  the  celebrat- 
ed Alien  and  Sedition  Laws,  and  from  that  day  the  ad- 
ministration and  political  prospects  of  John  Adams  were 
doomed.  They  were  the  worst  laws  that  ever  ema- 
nated from  American  legislators,  and  their  passage  was 
a  death  blow  to  the  Federal  party.  The  opposition 
charged  upon  them  with  concentrated,  irresistible  force, 
and  the  thunders  of  the  press  were  turned  to  the  work 
of  their  demolition.  The  Legislatures  of  the  different 
States  entered  energetically  into  the  strife.  The  Vir- 
ginia and  Kentucky  resolutions  of  '98  followed,  destined 
to  a  notoriety  co -existent  with  the  most  treasured 
archives  of  the  Republic.  The  first  were  prepared  by 
James  Madison,  and  the  last  by  Thomas  Jefferson.  It 
is  foreign  to  the  purposes  we  have  in  view  to  discuss 
elaborately  the  merits  of  these  well-known  documents. 
We  shall  content  ourselves  with  a  single  remark.  They 
contain,  in  our  humble  judgment,  much  that  is  conserv- 
ative and  worthy  of  remembrance ;  but  they  also  con- 
tain much  more  that  we  deem  dangerous,  Jacobinical, 
and  wildly  revolutionary  in  tendency.  The  remedies 
they  inculcate  for  constitutional  infractions  are  extreme, 
repugnant  to  genuine  patriotism,  and  wholly  unneces- 
vsary  in  a  government  where  the  people  hold  the  power 
of  the  ballot  box.  This  view  gathers  additional  weight 
when  it  is  considered  that  an  intermediate  umpirage 
exists  in  the  Supreme  Court.  In  fact,  the  American  Con- 
stitution neither  countenances  nor  warrants  extreme 
measures  in  any  case.  If  we  correctly  understand  its 
language  and  spirit,  we  should  say  that  all  chances  of 
aggression,  from  any  quarter,  are  amply  provided  for  and 
guarded  against.  Balances  and  checks,  and  legitimate 
remedial  processes  pervade  its  every  feature.  We  regard 
it  as  the  mere  silly  cant  of  suspicious,  over-zealous  enthu- 
siasts and  designing  demagogues,  to  advocate  nullifica- 


36  „  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

tion,  revolution,  or  dissolution  as  ulterior  or  unavoida- 
ble remedies  in  cases  of  encroachment.  The  ship  may 
spring  a  leak,  but  the  mariner  does  not  desert  and  take 
to  the  open  and  unfriendly  seas  until  the  pumps  have 
been  thoroughly  tried  and  exhausted.  It  will  then  be 
soon  enough  to  take  refuge  in  extreme  measures,  when 
the  safeguards  of  the  constitution  are  found  unavailing. 
But  the  Virginia  and  Kentucky  resolutions  answered 
and  fully  attained  the  objects  for  which  they  were  de- 
signed. They  served  to  beat  down  the  Alien  and  Se- 
dition laws,  and  formed  the  entering  wedge  to  the 
subversion  and  eradication  of  the  old  Federal  party. 
So  far  it  was  good.  Happy  would  it  have  been  for  the 
country  if  this  good  could  have  been  effected  without 
the  entailment  of  an  evil  scarcely  less  deplorable  than 
that  which  had  been  crushed !  But  from  that  day  to 
this,  the  objectionable  doctrines  taught  in  these* papers 
(especially  those  of  Jefferson)  have  been  made  the 
theme  and  the  authority  of  coagitators,  of  aspirants,  of 
factionists,  and  of  demagogues.  They  have  been  leaned 
upon  for  apology,  and  for  shelter  from  obloquy  and 
odium.  The  tendency  of  their  principles  reaches  and 
covers  anarchy  itself,  and  justifies  the  overthrow  of 
established  governments  as  a  primary,  extra-constitu- 
tional remedy  against  supposed  infractions.  Their  ab- 
stractions, and,  indeed,  their  proposed  remedies,  would 
have  applied  to  the  old  colonial  government  under 
Great  Britain.  But  the  mischief  was  complete,  when 
they  were  offered  as  suggesting  a  method  of  resistance 
to  the  authority  and  laws  of  the  Government  of  the 
United  States.  Their  teachings  were  hailed  by  all  the 
discontented  and  revolutionary  classes  of  that  day. 
The  Shay  rebellionists,  the  Whiskey  insurrectionists, 
the  Jacobin  clubs  of  Philadelphia  and  other  cities,  the 
followers  of  the  Genet  faction,  and  the  satellites  of  Fre- 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  37 

neau  and  Callender,  received  them  as  text-books,  and 
became  associated  in  one  solid  Democratic  phalanx. 
The  Federalists  shrank  into  disrepute,  and  gradually 
dwindled  until  they  were  extinguished  by  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  Hartford  Convention.  Until  then,  or  at 
least,  up  to  1807,  the  radical  Democratic  party,  found- 
ed and  fostered  by  Jefferson,  held  undivided,  undis- 
puted sway.  But  at  the  latter  period  a  new  party 
emerged  from  the  political  chaos.  It  was  composed  of 
the  moderate  Democrats  and  the  more  liberal  portion 
of  the  defeated  Federalists.  It  numbered  in  its  ranks 
such  men  as  Monroe,  and  Crawford,  and  Gerry,  the 
younger  Adams,  and  Henry  Clay — the  dawn  of  whose 
genius  was  just  then  irradiating  the  horizon.  It  was 
the  Conservative  party  of  the  country — the  medium 
spot  of  patriotism,  beat  upon  alike  by  rank  Federalism 
and  impracticable  Democracy.  It  gathered  strength 
with  years,  and  soon  numbered  among  its  converts 
James  Madison,  who,  however,  had  favored  it  from  the 
first. 

We  must  here  pause  for  the  present.  In  some  fu- 
ture number,  the  grounds  here  assumed  will  be  further 
elucidated.  We  have  now  brought  Jefferson  to  the 
end  of  the  third  era  of  his  political  life,  and  leave  him 
on  the  eve  of  success  and  of  elevation  to  the  highest 
and  proudest  honors  of  his  country.  We  shall  soon  re- 
sume the  narrative,  if  permitted  by  health  and  life. 

PART  II. 

HAVING,  in  our  first  number,  conducted  the  distin- 
guished subject  of  these  memoirs  to  the  threshold  of 
his  greatest  political  elevation,  we  now  proceed  to  de- 
picture and  carefully  analyze  so  much  of  the  policy  of 
his  administration  as  may  serve  to  develope  the  object 


38  THOMAS  JEFFERSON, 

of  this  essay,  and  to  illustrate  the  representative  fea- 
tures in  the  public  character  of  the  first  Democratic 
President.  We  enter  upon  this  important  and  delicate 
task  after  a  most  agreeable  interval  of  mutual  relaxa- 
tion, and  with  a  greatly  enlarged  stock  of  material. 
We  have  long  since  done,  however,  with  all  that  can 
be  justly  called  disinterested  and  admirable  in  the  life 
and  character  of  Jefferson.  Over  a  space  of  more  than 
twenty  years,  dating  from  1790,  we  are  forced  to  con- 
template him  in  the  character  of  a  fierce  and  implaca- 
ble partisan  chief,  whose  efforts  and  influence  were 
directed  solely  to  the  demolition  of  a  hated  sect,  and 
the  aggrandizement  of  one  of  which  he  was  the  idol 
and  the  head. 

From  the  very  moment  that  he  detected  the  supe- 
rior and  predominating  influence  of  Alexander  Hamilton 
in  the  councils  and  policy  of  Washington,  his  besetting 
sin  of  jealousy  prompted  in  him  a  spirit  of  opposition, 
whose  rancor  has  been  equalled  only  by  the  "  bitter- 
endism "  of  our  day.  To  the  sedulous  transmission 
of  this  spirit  from  the  parent  fountain,  is  to  be  attrib- 
uted, we  incline  to  think,  that  radical  partyzsra  which 
has  since  disfigured  and  marred  the  administration  of 
government,  and  entailed  upon  the  country  a  series  of 
principles  (so  called),  which,  if  such  be  our  fate,  will 
one  day  result  in  the  disaster  of  secession  or  despotism. 

Jefferson  did  not  enter  the  White  House  in  a  way 
very  complimentary  to  his  public  character,  or  that  in- 
dicated much  personal  popularity.  The  Electoral  Col- 
leges gave  him  a  meagre  majority  of  eight  votes  only 
over  his  federal  competitors ;  whilst  his  republican  col- 
league obtained  the  same  number  with  himself.  This 
last  was  Aaron  Burr,  who,  at  a  subsequent  period,  was 
made  bitterly  to  expiate  this  equalization  with  the  de- 
spotic tempered  sage  of  Monticello,  whose  pride  was 


THOMAS  JEFFEKSON.  39 

sorely  touched  at  being  thus  unexpectedly  levelled  with 
one  who  had  hitherto  attracted  but  little  notice  beyond 
the  limits  of  his  own  State.  From  the  hour  when  the 
vote  was  announced  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  to  the 
gloomy  day  when  Burr  returned  from  Europe,  long 
years  afterward,  friendless,  poverty-stricken,  and  broken- 
hearted, the  envious  eye  of  Jefferson  was  fixed  upon  him, 
and  misfortune  and  persecution,  thus  powerfully  direct- 
ed, hunted  him  to  a  premature  and  unhonored  obscurity. 
The  unrelenting  hatred  of  Jefferson  can  be  accounted 
for  in  no  other  way,  that  history  has  so  far  developed. 
The  good  fortune  of  Burr  was  his  only  offence,  in  this 
instance  ;  though,  as  regarded  others,  he  had  an  awful 
crime  to  answer  for.  His  murderous  hand  had  laid 
low  the  most  intimate  friend  and  counsellor  of  Wash- 
ington, the  main  author  and  expounder  of  the  Consti- 
tution, whose  profound  mind  and  ready  hand  had  aided 
more  than  any  other's  to  carry  into  successful  practice 
the  project  of  our  government.  Of  this,  more  anon. 

Through  this  equah'ty  of  votes  betwixt  the  two 
democratic  candidates  the  choice  of  a  President  de- 
volved upon  the  House  of  Representatives.  The  bal- 
loting began  on  the  morning  of  the  17th  of  February, 
1801,  and  continued,  with  few  intervals,  through  a 
period  of  seven  days,  without*  a  clear  result.  All 
Washington  was  in  a  ferment.  The  galleries  and  lob- 
bies of  the  House  were  daily  crdwded  to  overflowing 
with  anxious  spectators,  and  Pennsylvania  avenue  was 
thronged  with  messengers  passing  alternately  from  the 
Capitol  to  the  White  House,  bearing  the  news  of  each 
successive  ballot  to  its  nervous  occupant — Jefferson  was 
on  the  ground,  presiding  daily  in  the  Senate  Chamber, 
and  watched  the  progress  of  the  struggle  with  all  the 
inquietude  incident  to  a  dubious  state  of  mind,  and 
with  all  the  eager  solicitude  of  an  aspiring  and  ambi- 


40  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

tious  spirit.  Burr  designedly  absented  himself,  having 
first  placed  his  political  fortunes  in  the  hands  and  at 
the  discretion  of  a  judicious  personal  friend.  It  had 
been  resolved  at  the  outset  that  the  House  should 
discard  all  other  business  during  the  pendency  of 
the  election,  and  that  it  should  not  adjourn  until  an 
election  was  effected.  This  body  was  composed  of  sin- 
gular materials,  in  a  political  sense,  for  the  business 
which  had  now  devolved  upon  it.  The  vote  of  the 
colleges  had  shown  clearly  that  there  was  a  democratic 
majority  of  States.  But  of  the  one  hundred  and  four 
members  who  then  formed  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, a  majority  were  zealous  Federalists.  The  position 
in  which  they  were  thus  placed  was  one  of  peculiar  and 
painful  delicacy.  Both  the  candidates  for  Presidential 
honors  were  Democrats,  and  one  of  them  the  founder 
and  leader  of  that  opposition  party  which,  beginning 
stealthily  during  Washington's  administration,  had  pur- 
sued federal  men  and  federal  principles  with  a  rancor 
scarcely  paralleled  in  the  history  of  faction.  For  these 
reasons  both  were  objectionable  ;  but,  as  may  be  very 
well  imagined,  Jefferson  was  viewed,  particularly,  with 
strong  feelings  both  of  personal  and  political  hostility 
by  the  majority  in  whose  hands  lay  the  issue  of  the 
election.  During  two  or  three  days,  therefore,  Burr 
seemed  to  be  decidedly  the  favorite  of  the  Federalists, 
and  his  prospects  of  success  brightened  in  a  manner 
that  cast  dismay  and  gloom  over  the  ranks  of  the  Jef- 
fersonians.  They  grew  outrageous  in  their  course,  and 
uttered  threats  which  plainly  indicated  the  anarchical 
and  revolutionary  tendency  of  their  political  principles. 
They  insisted  that  the  people  intended  Jefferson  should 
be  President,  they  even  attempted  to  bully  the  refrac- 
tory members,  by  declaring  that,  if  the*  House  did  not 
choose  him,  an  armed  democratic  force  from  the  neigh- 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  41 

boring  States  would  march  upon  the  District  to  compel 
his  election,  or  else,  with  Cromwellian  intolerance,  dis- 
solve and  break  up  the  Congress,  that  "  better  men 
might  occupy  their  places."  The  record  of  this  fact  is 
furnished  in  the  third  volume  of  the  work  before  us, 
and  its  authenticity  confirmed  by  Jefferson  himself,  in 
a  letter  to  James  Monroe,  dated  on  the  fifth  day  of 
the  protracted  and  exciting  contest.  Nor  is  the  an- 
nunciation of  such  resolves  at  all  irreconcilable  with 
the  previous  political  manifestos  of  our  distinguished 
subject,  notwithstanding  that  the  language  of  the  Con- 
stitution conferring  the  power  of  choice,  in  such  contin- 
gency, directly  and  solely  on  the  House  of  Represen- 
tatives, is  clear,  pointed,  and  unmistakable. 

His  known  sympathy  with  the  Shayites,  the  Whis- 
key Insurrectionists,  and  the  Jacobin  clubs  of  Phila- 
delphia, and  his  connection  with  the  Nullification  Pro- 
nunciamientos  of  the  Virginia  Legislature,  as  well  as 
this  threat  of  armed  resistance,  show  clearly  enough 
his  contempt  for  the  Constitution,  and  the  disorganiz- 
ing elements  which  lay  at  the  root  of  his  political 
opinions. 

But  this  was  only  one  among  the  exciting  rumors 
which  distracted  the  city  of  Washington  during  that 
stormy  period.  Various  stories  were  afloat  of  bribes 
and  accommodating  offers,  of  Burr's  open  bids,  and  of 
Jefferson's  private  overtures.  Among  the  rest  it  was 
currently  whispered  that  the  federal  majority  of  the 
House  being  unable,  after  repeated  trials,  to  make 
favorable  terms  with  either  of  the  candidates,  and  find- 
ing that  the  whole  power  was  lodged  with  them,  had 
resolved  to  prevent  any  choice,  by  prolonging  the  con- 
test until  after  the  fourth  of  March,  or  to  pass  a  law 
vesting  the  Executive  power  in  some  other  person. 
In  the  same  letter  referred  to  above,  Jefferson  declares 


42  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

his  apprehensions  of  such  a  course,  and  goes  on  to 
deprecate  and  denounce  it.  "  It  is  not  improbable," 
says  a  distinguished  writer,  "that,  from  the  abhor- 
rence which  some  members  may  have  felt  at  seeing 
Mr.  Jefferson  hi  the  office  of  President,  means  were 
spoken  of  to  prevent  such  a  national  disaster.  Doubt- 
less the  Federalists  would  have  done  any  thing  which 
they  believed  to  be  constitutional  and  dutiful  to  prevent 
it ;  but  no  such  propositions  are  supposed  to  have  been 
discussed."  And,  indeed,  hard  as  the  trial  was  to  po- 
litical opponents,  forced  thus  to  sign,  as  it  were,  the 
warrant  for  their  own  political  annihilation,  the  records 
show  that  the  Federalists  sought  only  the  most  favorable 
terms  in  their  negotiations  with  the  friends  of  the  two 
democratic  rival  candidates.  There  was  no  avoiding 
the  issue — no  shrinking  from  the  responsibility,  and  it 
is  clear,  on  a  review  of  the  proceedings,  that  an  election 
was  determined  on  from  the  beginning. 

The  seventh  day  dawned  on  the  contest,  and  thirty- 
five  ballotings  had  been  taken  without  an  election. 
At  length  the  struggle  was  terminated  in  a  manner  the 
most  singular,  and  at  the  instance  of  a  personage  who 
might  have  been  supposed  to  be  the  last  man  in  the 
United  States  to  interfere  in  a  contest  betwixt  Aaron 
Burr  and  Thomas  Jefferson.  This  was  Alexander 
Hamilton.  Hamilton  regarded  Burr  with  a  species  of 
horror  that  seems  to  have  proceeded  less  from  malign 
feeling,  than  from  an  innate  consciousness  of  his  utter 
want  of  principle,  or  the  least  moral  susceptibility. 
Jefferson,  too,  had  long  been  his  political  adversary 
and  strong  personal  enemy,  but  when  consulted  by  his 
friends  as  to  the  choice  of  evils,  we  are  told  that 
Hamilton  unhesitatingly  and  most  strenuously  urged 
that  the  preference  should  be  given  to  the  latter.  This, 
most  probably,  may  have  been  the  first  link  in  that 


THOMAS  JEFFEKSON.  43 

fatal  chain  of  personal  animosities  which  ended  with 
the  tragedy  of  Hoboken. 

It  soon  transpired  that  the  majority  had  been,  by 
some  means,  sufficiently  united  to  bring  the  election  to 
a  close,  and  on  the  seventh  day,  every  member  was  in 
his  seat.  The  House  presented  a  remarkable  spectacle, 
strongly  illustrative  of  the  intense  excitement  then 
pervading  the  whole  circles  of  Washington  society. 
Many  of  the  members  were  aged  and  infirm,  and  many 
worn  down  with  fatigue,  were  seriously  indisposed,  as 
the  array  of  pale  faces  and  languid  eyes  plainly  showed. 
Some  were  accommodated,  from  pressing  considera- 
tions of  prudence,  with  huge  easy  chairs.  Others, 
again,  were  reclining  on  beds  or  couches,  almost  in  a 
state  of  bodily  exhaustion,  induced  by  mental  anxiety 
and  suffering.  Indeed,  we  are  told  by  a  contempora- 
neous writer,  that  one  member  was  so  prostrated  as  to 
require  the  attention  of  his  wife  throughout  the  day's 
sitting.  The  Departments,  also,  and  bureaus,  and  va- 
rious offices  attached,  were  deserted,  that  their  incum- 
bents might  be  present  at  the  expected  finale  of  the 
great  political  drama  which  had  created,  during  its 
enactment  of  nigh  seven  days,  an  interest  of  unprece- 
dented intensity.  Numbers  of  grave  Senators  left 
their  seats  in  the  Chamber  to  occupy  the  benches  of 
the  lobby,  or  to  squeeze  their  way  among  privileged 
spectators  who  filled  the  body  of  the  House ;  while  the 
gallery  teemed  with  countless  faces,  and  groaned  under 
the  weight  of  a  crowd,  the  like  of  which  had  never  be- 
fore pressed  on  the  stately  pillars  which  supported  it. 
At  length  the  tellers  took  their  seats.  The  ballots  were 
deposited  slowly,  one  by  one,  and  then  amidst  a  breath- 
less silence  that  seemed  ominous  in  view  of  the  vast 
numbers  assembled,  the  counting  began.  The  repre- 
sentatives for  sixteen  States  had  voted.  The  result 


44  THOMAS   JEFFEESON. 

showed  that  out  of  these  sixteen  ballots,  there  were 
ten  for  Jefferson,  four  for  Burr,  and  two  blank.  Under 
these  circumstances,  after  a  struggle  of  seven  days' 
duration,  and  after  thirty-six  trials,  was  Thomas  Jef- 
ferson elected  President  of  the  United  States.  It  is 
more  than  probable  that  if  Burr  had  exerted  himself 
in  the  least,  had  made  the  least  concession,  or  suffered 
his  friends  to  pledge  him  to  leniency  as  regarded  the 
distribution  of  offices,  he  would  have  prevailed ;  and 
although  it  is  unquestionable  that  Jefferson  had  been 
intended  by  the  people  for  the  first  office,  we  cannot 
doubt  that  the  choice  of  Burr  by  the  House  would 
have  been  acquiesced  in  and  ratified  as  a  strictly  legiti- 
mate and  constitutional  proceeding.  In  long  after 
years  a  similar  contest  occurred  in  the  case  of  John 
Quincy  Adams,  who  having  been  thrown  before  the 
House  of  Representatives  with  a  far  inferior  electoral 
vote  to  Andrew  Jackson,  was,  nevertheless,  chosen 
President  by  that  body  on  the  first  ballot ;  and  the 
people,  unseduced  by  the  dangerous  theories  which 
Jefferson  had  inculcated  previously  in  his  own  case, 
did  not  "  march  an  armed  force  from  the  neighboring 
States  to  compel"  a  different  choice.  This  quiet  sub- 
mission to  the  constituted  authority  would  have  been 
the  same  in  1801  as  in  1825,  the  malevolent  efforts  of 
the  Jeffersonians  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

The  acme  of  political  elevation  did  not,  in  one  sense, 
operate  to  destroy  in  Jefferson  that  inclination  to  dem- 
agoguism  which  had  hitherto  characterized  him.  The 
hard  struggle  it  had  cost  his  friends  to  make  him  Presi- 
dent rather  whetted  than  abated  his  ambition,  and  his 
ardor  for  power  increased  in  proportion  as  it  had  been 
difficult  to  secure  it.  His  first  acts  after  entering  the 
White  House  showed  that  he  was  casting  his  net  for 
easy  re-election  at  the  end  of  four  years.  He  began  by 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  45 

an  emphatic  repudiation  of  all  the  conventional  customs 
and  etiquette  established  by  Washington  and  followed 
up  by  John  Adams.  The  levees  and  drawing-rooms  of 
Washington  were  given  in  a  manner  to  impose  the 
highest  notions  of  official  dignity,  and  were  subjected 
to  such  rules  of  etiquette  as  seemed  fit  to  govern  re- 
ceptions at  the  mansion  of  the  chief  officer  of  the  gov- 
ernment. Mr.  Adams  did  not  depart  from  these  ;  but 
Jefferson  at  once  abolished  all  ceremony,  and  threw 
open  his  doors  to  every  swaggerer  who  chose  to  in- 
trude. He  had  no  regular  or  stated  hours  for  visiting. 
He  was  accessible  at  any  hour,  to  any  person.  His 
personal  deportment  was  ever  cringing,  and  amounted 
to  an  excess  of  humility  that  inspired  a  feeling  of  dis- 
gust, because,  among  other  things,  it  was  seen  that  af- 
fectation was  at  the  bottom  of  such  unseemly  deference. 
He  maintained  no  equipage.  He  rode  about  the  ave- 
nues of  Washington  on  an  ugly  shambling  hack  of  a 
horse,  which,  it  is  said,  was  hardly  fitted  to  drag  a  tum- 
bril. His  whole  address  and  manner  indicated  his  sub- 
serviency to  the  same  species  of  affectation  that  prompts 
a  backwoods  Methodist  exhorter  to  elongate  his  face, 
to  solemnize  his  looks,  and  to  converse  and  read  in  a 
sepulchral  tone.  In  fact,  his  receptions  soon  became  a 
source  of  mortification  to  our  own  community,  and  fur- 
nished a  subject  of  ridicule  to  European  travellers.  No 
President  has  copied  his  example  since,  though  it  is  not 
hard  to  perceive  that  the  levees  at  the  White  House 
smack  yet  of  the  levelling  policy  introduced  by  Jeffer- 
son. N~or  did  he  stop  here  with  what  he  doubtless 
deemed  a  system  of  democratic  reform.  It  had  been 
the  habit  of  Washington  and  his  successor  to  meet  per- 
sonally the  two  Houses  of  Congress  on  the  day  of  their 
assemblage,  and  address  them  a  speech  explanatory  of 
affairs,  and  recommending  what  course  of  policy  might 


46  THOMAS  JEFFEESOX. 

have  suggested  itself  in  the  interval  of  their  session. 
This  was  the  mode  long  sanctioned  by  precedent  and 
by  parliamentary  usage.  It  is  the  mode  evidently  sug- 
gested by  respect  as  well  as  convenience,  and  which 
clothes  so  august  an  occasion  with  the  awe  and  dignity 
suitable  to  a  re-assemblage  of  the  State's  and  people's 
representatives.  But  Jefferson  chose  to  annul  the  an- 
cient custom,  and  introduced  the  system  of  messages, 
since  practised,  and  which,  of  late  years,  has  been 
adopted  by  Presidents  as  a  vehicle  to  set  forth  their 
own  policy,  to  decry  and  calumniate  their  adversaries, 
and  to  bore  the  Congress  with  tedious  disquisitions, 
better  suited  to  penny  lecturers  or  hired  journalists 
than  to  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  a  powerful  nation. 
We  are  inclined  to  think,  therefore,  that  Jefferson 
placed  the  seal  of  his  displeasure  on  these  customs  more 
with  a  view  to  annihilate  all  traces  of  federalism,  as 
represented  by  Washington  and  Adams,  than  from  any 
conscientious  suggestions  of  reform.  The  Mazzei  letter 
had,  moreover,  fairly  committed  him  to  a  sans  culotte 
species  of  democracy,  and,  although  he  had  labored  to 
explain  and  palliate  the  offensive  passages  of  that  extra- 
ordinary document,  he  may  yet  have  thought  that  con- 
sistency required  that  he  should  renounce  those  "  Brit- 
ish forms,"  which  he  had  so  bitterly  condemned  in 
George  Washington's  official  etiquette. 

The  Inaugural  Address  of  Jefferson  breathed  senti- 
ments of  political  tolerance,  and  abounded  with  expres- 
sions of  political  harmony,  totally  unexpected,  and 
which  excited  high  hopes  of  his  administrative  clemen- 
cy. We  cannot  find  that  he  ever  falsified  these  implied 
promises.  The  latter  years  of  Adams's  Presidency  had 
been  marked  by  a  ferocious  and  virulent  proscription 
of  all  who  differed  politically  with  the  administration, 
and  the  last  few  months,  especially  when  it  was  found 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  47 

that  the  Federal  party  had  been  beaten  in  the  elections, 
were  disgraced  by  acts  of  intolerance  and  selfishness 
that  made  the  man  and  his  party  odious  to  a  majority 
of  the  nation.  Laws  were  passed  by  the  Federal  Con- 
gress which  had  the  air  of  beneficiary  decrees,  and  new 
offices  created,  it  would  seem,  only  that  the  President 
might  fill  them  with  his  party  and  personal  favorites,  in 
time  to  exclude  such  as  might  otherwise  be  appointed 
by  the  incoming  administration. 

To  have  continued  or  acquiesced  in  this  course  of 
conduct  would  have  been  the  worst  form  of  proscrip- 
tion. Jefferson,  therefore,  very  properly  began  his  ad- 
ministrative career  by  displacing  numbers  of  office- 
holders who  had  been  appointed  mainly  because  of 
their  federal  principles,  and  filled  the  vacancies  created 
with  Democrats.  This  course  was  called  for  by  com- 
mon fairness;  and,  although  we  must  regard  Jefferson 
as  the  author  of  the  fierce  party  issue  that  yet  darkens 
our  political  system,  and  has  converted  our  Presidential 
elections  into  campaigns,  and  made  the  preparations  for 
them  a  deceitful  and  despicable  game,  we  cannot  judge 
him  hastily  for  conforming  his  conduct  to  that  equality 
in  "the  distribution  of  offices  which  the  justice  of  the 
case  required.  He  did  not  procrastinate  or  trifle  in  the 
discharge  of  this  duty,  but  went  to  the  work  with 
promptness  and  determination;  and  this  promptness 
shielded  him  from  the  annoyances  and  the  influences  of 
federal  "  bitter-endism."  The  wailings  of  the  opposi- 
tion prints  were  not  over  mere  smoke  or  imaginary 
cases,  as  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  Whig  adminis- 
tration. The  heads  of  the  highest  in  office  fell  first  and 
fastest,  and  the  axe  of  justice  cut  its  way  from  the  Ex- 
ecutive Departments  and  from  the  diplomatic  offices,  to 
the  humblest  post-office  at  a  county  cross  road,  and  to 
the  most  obscure  light-house  that  lifted  its  beacon  on 


48  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

our  coasts.  There  was  no  soft  hesitation,  no  mistimed 
caution,  no  misjudged  forbearance.  This  is  a  policy, 
under  such  circumstances,  as  weak  as  it  is  ruinous  to 
those  who  practise  it.  It  contributes  to  strengthen  and 
to  quicken  opposition,  while  it  discourages  friends.  So 
far  from  conciliating  political  opponents,  it  is  more  apt 
to  induce  contempt,  and  serves  eminently  to  fan  the 
flame  of  a  malignant  "  bitter-endism."  The  bold  pro- 
ceedings of  Jefferson  hushed  while  they  defied  rabid 
partisan  clamor,  and  those  who  had  been  ostracised  for 
opinion's  sake  were  placed  on  a  footing  of  full  equality 
with  the  pampered  favorites  of  the  late  administration. 
To  this  conduct  may  be  traced  the  primary  sources  of 
that  wonderful  popularity  to  which  the  democratic  ad- 
ministration soon  attained,  and  which  it  preserved 
through  a  series  of  eight  eventful  years,  marked  by 
acts  and  measures  that  blighted  the  prosperity  of  the 
country,  and  threw  gloom  and  distress  over  almost 
every  household.  Its  energy  and  decision  inspired 
confidence  among  friends,  and  drew  the  respect  of  ene- 
mies. Whatever,  therefore,  may  have  been  the  motive 
which  induced  these  removals,  the  act  was  just,  deserved 
by  those  who  had  indulged  party  asperities  in  their  day 
of  power,  and  strictly  due  to  those  who  had  labored  to 
overthrow  the  reign  of  political  intolerance  and  pro- 
scription. 

The  war  which,  on  his  accession,  Jefferson  waged 
against  the  Judiciary  and  Judicial  authority  and  dig- 
nity, was  a  step  very  full  of  hazard  as  to  the  probable 
deleterious  effects  it  may  have  produced  on  the  public 
mind,  and  must  ^e  heartily  condqnined  by  all  unbiassed 
historiographers.  It  was  a  branch  of  the  Government 
which  he  had,  from  the  first,  unscrupulously  denounced 
and  opposed,  and  notwithstanding  his  professed  horror 
at  the  appointment  of  the  "midnight  judges"  by  Ad- 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  49 

ams'  expiring  administration,  we  are  inclined  to  think 
that  his  hostility  against  the  law  establishing  federal 
courts  throughout  the  various  States  was  superinduced 
mainly  by  his  ancient  prejudices  and  unconquerable 
jealousy.  He  evidently  had  little  or  no  respect  for  the 
proceedings  of  courts  of  law,  and  never  hesitated  to  op- 
pose the  power  of  the  Executive  as  of  higher  moment 
than  the  Judiciary  arm  of  the  Government.  The  best 
evidence  of  this  is  furnished  by  several  letters  contained 
in  the  fourth  volume  of  the  work  before  us,  as  well  as 
by  one  among  his  first  official  acts.  George  Thompson 
Callender,  the  Scotch  libeller  and  defamer  of  Washing- 
ton, had  published,  during  the  administration  of  John 
Adams,  a  scurrilous  book,  entitled,  "  The  Prospect  be- 
fore us,"  filled  with  the  most  inflammatory  appeals,  and 
calculated,  from  its  most  atrocious  inculcations,  to  pro- 
duce widespread  and  dangerous  discontent  among  the 
lower  floating  classes  of  people.  He  was  arrested  un- 
der the  Sedition  Act,  speedily  brought  to  trial,  convict- 
ed, and  sentenced  to  fine  and  imprisonment.  The  tri- 
bunal before  which  he  had  been  brought  was  the 
appointed  exponent  of  the  Constitution  and  law,  and 
was  clothed  with  supreme  jurisdiction  in  such  cases. 
But  Jefferson  paid  no  regard  to  the  facts,  the  law,  or 
the  Court.  He  pardoned  and  released  Callender,  and 
ordered  the  U.  S.  Marshal  for  Virginia  to  refund  the 
amount  of  the  fine  to  which  he  had  been  subjected.  A 
letter  to  Mr.  George  Hay,  the  Government  attorney, 
who  subsequently  prosecuted  Burr  with  such  distin- 
guished ability,  unfolds  Jefferson's  opinion  of  the  dig- 
nity of  courts  of  law,  and  evinces  in  the  most  emphatic 
manner  the  native  despotic  tendency  of  his  temper  and 
disposition.  He  therein  says,  "In  the  case  of  Callen- 
der, the  judges  determined  the  Sedition  Act  was  valid, 
under  the  Constitution,  and  exercised  their  regular 
3 


50  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

powers  of  sentencing  to  fine  and  imprisonment.  But 
his  Executive  (Thomas  Jefferson)  determined  that  the 
Sedition  Act  was  a  nullity,  under  the  Constitution,  and 
exercised  his  regular  power  of  prohibiting  the  execution 
of  the  sentence,  or  rather  of  executing  the  real  law." 
We  know  of  nothing  in  the  civil  administrations  of 
Charles  the  First,  of  Cromwell,  of  Napoleon,  or  of  An- 
drew Jackson,  the  dictators  of  modern  times,  more 
high-handed,  in  tone  and  sentiment,  or  more  pernicious 
in  principle,  than  such  declaration  and  such  conduct 
from  this  great  model  Democratic  President.  The  act 
of  pardon  was  allowable,  and  belonged  to  his  office. 
But  a  pardon  under  the  circumstances,  and  with  this 
declaration,  was  an  insult  to  the  Court  and  an  outrage 
on  the  supreme  law  of  the  land ;  while  the  order  to  re- 
fund the  amount  of  fine  was  a  flagrant  usurpation  of 
undelegated  power.  By  the  same  rule  of  construction 
he  might  just  as  well  have  directed  that  Callender 
should  receive  every  dollar  in  the  Treasury.  It  so  hap- 
pened, too,  that,  in  the  end,  Jefferson  was  caught  in  his 
own  trap.  This  low-minded  Scotchman,  like  ah1  other 
minions  and  parasites,  had  his  price,  and  repaid  all  this 
official  liberality  by  the  basest  ingratitude.  He  had 
scarcely  been  released,  or  purged  of  the  dungeon's 
stench,  before  he  applied  to  be  made  postmaster  at 
Richmond.  This  Jefferson  flatly  refused  to  do,  but,  at 
the  same  time,  tendered  the  hardy  and  beggarly  appli- 
cant with  a  loan  from  his  private  purse.  Callender  ac- 
cepted the  loan,  but,  dead  to  all  the  decencies  of  life, 
and  fretting  with  disappointment  (though  complimented 
by  his  eminent  patron  as  being  "  a  man  of  science  "),  he 
no  sooner  pocketed  the  money,  than  in  mean  revenge, 
he  published  to  the  world  that  Jefferson  had  been  his 
adviser  and  patron  in  ah1  his  scurrilous  attacks  on  the 
two  preceding  administrations,  had  furnished  him  the 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  51 

means  of  printing  "  The  Prospect,"  and  had  encouraged 
him  to  all  he  had  undertaken  in  his  career  of  political 
piracies.  This  act  of  treachery,  coming  from  a  genuine 
nursling  of  unadulterated  Democracy,  startled  even  the 
"  great  Apostle  "  himself,  and  seemed  to  rouse  and 
ruffle  his  boasted  serenity  of  temper  under  personal  at- 
tacks and  vituperation.  Jefferson  was  forced  into  the 
defensive,  and  wrote  several  letters  in  explanation  of 
these  charges,  and  in  extenuation  of  his  friendly  con- 
duct towards  Callender. 

"  If  there  be  any  thing,"  says  a  distinguished  writer, 
"  which  is  capable  of  sustaining  popular  government, 
and  keeping  their  action  within  legitimate  constitu- 
tional boundaries,  it  is  a  learned,  self-inspecting,  inde- 
pendent judiciary.  To  make  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice, and  all  questions  on  the  excess  of  power,  dependent 
on  popular  excitement,  is  to  assume  that  mere  human 
passion  is  the  best  arbiter  of  right  and  wrong."  Widely 
different  from  this  was  the  opinion  of  Thomas  Jefferson. 
His  doctrines  and  his  example  as  respects  judicial  tri- 
bunals are  highly  exceptionable,  obnoxious  to  good 
government,  and  dangerous  in  the  extreme.  We  have 
seen,  in  the  case  of  Callender,  that  he  assumed  to  de- 
clare null  and  void  a  law  constitutionally  enacted  and 
approved,  constitutionally  adjudged,  and  constitution- 
ally executed.  Other  acts  strictly  in  unison  with  this 
may  be  easily  cited.  The  case  of  Duane,  another 
Democratic  libeller,  affords  an  exact  parallel.  During 
the  trial  of  Aaron  Burr,  in  which  he  was  the  real, 
though  not  ostensible  prosecutor,  we  find  him  proposing 
to  violate  personal  liberty,  by  suggesting  to  his  attor- 
ney that  Luther  Martin,  who  defended  the  prisoner 
with  quite  too  much  ability  and  boldness  to  suit  the 
purposes  of  Jefferson,  should  be  arrested  as  particeps 
criminis,  and  thus,  as  he  says,  "put  down  this  unprin- 


52  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

cipled  and  impildent  Federal  bull  dog."  No  more  dis- 
organizing proposition  than  this  was  ever  made.  But 
a  little  subsequently  to  this,  we  find  that,  impelled  by 
ungovernable  vindictiveness  in  prosecuting  a  man  who 
had  contested  with  him  the  chair  of  the  Presidency,  he 
asked  a  suspension  of  that  great  landmark  of  freedom, 
the  act  of  Habeas  Corpus.  For  arrogance  similar  to 
this,  and  for  attempting,  among  other  offences,  to  vio- 
late this  same  sacred  shield  of  personal  right,  James 
the  Second,  more  than  an  hundred  years  before,  had 
been  hurled  from  the  throne  of  England,  and  expatri- 
ated for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  It  will  be  thus  seen 
that  the  sufferance  of  democracies,  when  conducted  by 
the  popular  favorite,  who,  while  writing  speciously  of 
liberty,  outstrips  the  most  arrogant  monarch  in  his 
stretches  for  dominion,  affords,  sometimes,  an  exempli- 
fication of  passive  obedience  from  which  even  despot- 
isms might  learn  a  lesson.  But  the  climax  of  these  ink- 
lings of  anarchy  may  be  found  in  a  letter  from  the 
model  Democratic  President  to  the  model  Democratic 
editor,  who  yet  survives  to  perpetuate  his  "  early  les- 
son," and  to  favor  the  world  with  valuable  reminis- 
cences of  the  epoch  of  "  '98,"  and  the  golden  age  of 
the  Jefferson  dominion.  In  a  letter  from  Jefferson  to 
Thomas  Ritchie,  found  in  the  fourth  of  these  volumes, 
we  find  the  following :  "  The  Judiciary  of  the  United 
States  is  a  subtle  corps  of  sappers  and  miners,  con- 
stantly working  under  ground  to  undermine  the  foun- 
dation of  our  confederated  Republic.  We  shall  see  if 
they  are  bold  enough  to  make  the  stride  their  five  law- 
yers have  taken.  If  they  do,  then,  with  the  editor  of 
our  book,  ./will  say,  that  against  this  every  man  should 
raise  his  voice,  and  more  than  that,  should  lift  his 
arm."  This  completed  the  series  of  what  may  be 
properly  termed  the  Jeffersonian  threats.  In  1798  he 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  53 

argued  closely,  in  the  celebrated  Kentucky  Resolutions, 
to  prove  that  the  people  might  resist  the  Executive  De- 
partment, lie  had  done  this  once  before,  in  the  time 
of  Washington,  by  favoring  the  Whiskey  insurrection. 
In  1801  we  have  seen  that  he  menaced  the  Legislative 
Department  with  "  an  armed  force,"  to  "  compel "  a 
choice  of  himself  as  President.  And  now,  in  his  old 
age,  he  winds  up  by  instructing  an  apt  disciple  to  "  lift 
his  arm"  against  the  Judiciary,  the  only  remaining 
branch  of  the  Government. 

The  figurative  epithet  here  applied  to  the  Supreme 
Court  shows  emphatically  the  abhorrence  with  which 
Jefferson  regarded  that  august  tribunal.  The  political 
reader  may  chance  to  be  reminded,  in  this  connection, 
of  the  high  dudgeon  which  a  certain  distinguished  Sen- 
ator manifested  on  a  recent  occasion,  when,  in  his  place, 
he  denounced  another  distinguished  personage  for  hav- 
ing characterized  modern  Presidential  candidates  as 
"prize-fighters."  It  is  barely  probable  that,  notwith- 
standing their  acknowledged  erudition,  neither  of  these 
eminent  individuals  knew  of  this  illustrious  precedent 
example  in  the  vocabulary  of  political  billingsgate,  else 
the  first,  a  model  professor  of  genuine  Jeffersonism, 
might  have  refrained  from  the  assault,  and  the  last,  a 
mild  and  equable  member  of  the  body  thus  reviled, 
would  have  been  able  effectually  to  shelter  himself  with 
a  lawyer's  most  valued  plea,  though  he  flatly  disclaimed 
the  construction  applied  to  his  apt  figure. 

PART  III. 

AMONG  all  the  men  of  the  Revolutionary  era,  Jeffer- 
son is  solitary  and  alone  in  the  propagation  of  the  per- 
nicious doctrine  of  armed  resistance  to  constituted  au- 
thorities. They  are  doctrines,  however,  not  greatly  to 


54  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

be  wondered  at  in  a  disciple  of  Jacobinism,  who 
thought  that  a  rebellion,  once  in  every  twenty  years, 
was  a  political  blessing,  and  treated  such  as  nothing 
more  than  a  natural  exuberance  of  patriotism,  a  rekind- 
ling of  the  smouldering  fires  of  liberty.  But  the  evil 
influence  of  such  teachings,  in  connection  with  one  yet 
so  revered  as  the  .father  of  progressive  democracy,  is 
felt  and  seen  to  this  day.  It  was  exhibited  clearly  in 
the  conduct  of  one,  who,  in  long  after  years,  was  folded 
in  the  mantle  of  Jefferson,  and  almost  adored  as  his 
representative  and  worthy  successor.  The  known  con- 
tempt of  the  great  apostle  of  Democracy  for  the  dignity 
of  constituted  authorities,  and  especially  for  that  of  ju- 
dicial tribunals,  was  a  carte  blanche  to  all  the  vandalic 
excesses  and  frantic  political  conduct  which,  in  many 
distinguished  instances,  have  since  been  practised  by 
his  partisans.  Andrew  Jackson  had  need  to  appeal  to 
no  higher  authority  than  the  opinion  of  Jefferson,  when, 
with  the  boldness  of  a  Cromwell,  at  the  head  of  a  de- 
voted soldiery,  he  imprisoned  a  judge  in  the  midst  of  a 
great  city,  for  daring  to  sustain  the  right  of  Habeas 
Corpus.  And  again,  in  1834,  when,  as  the  sceptred 
dictator  of  the  White  House,  he  sent  his  famous  Pro- 
test Message  to  the  Senate,  claiming  that  he  was  the 
direct  representative  of  the  American  People,  and  im- 
posing silence  on  Congress  as  regards  the  acts  of  the 
Executive,  he  had  found  enough,  in  the  teachings  of 
Jefferson,  to  sanction  his  haughty  usurpations.  By 
these  teachings  the  Constitution  had  been  reduced  to  a 
mere  charter  of  expediency,  to  be  set  aside  in  certain 
emergencies,  and  of  this  expediency  and  these  emergen- 
cies the  President  was  to  be  the  sole  judge.  And  here 
we  may  pause  to  say,  that  the  great  constitutional 
speech  of  Daniel  Webster  in  answer  to  this  Protest, 
and  in  crushing  refutation  of  these  nefarious  preten- 


THOMAS    JEFFERSON.  55 

sions,  should  be  stereotyped  on  tables  of  gold,  and  bla- 
zoned in  lasting  characters  on  the  official  record-book 
of  the  Republic. 

The  power  and  political  influence  of  the  Federal 
party  terminated,  along  with  the  Federal  administra- 
tions, in  March,  1801.  It  has  never  since  been  resusci- 
tated. But  the  truth  of  history  must  extort  the  ad- 
mission, that  Federal  men  originated,  framed,  and 
carried  into  successful  practice  the  Constitution  of 
1789,  the  first  genuine  republican  experiment  ever  ven- 
tured. But  this  is  not  all.  The  period  during  which 
the  Federalists  held  the  ascendency  in  the  administra- 
tion of  the  national  government,  was  one  of  no  ordinary 
trial.  The  system  itself  was  a  novelty,  founded  in  the 
midst  of  dissentient  opinions,  and  established  in  the  face 
of  powerful  opposition.  Its  parts  were  to  be  adjusted 
and  arranged,  its  proper  attributes  and  limits  settled 
and  defined,  the  relations  of  the  individual  members 
with  the  whole  to  be  harmonized,  and  the  great  and 
complicated  machine  to  be  set  in  motion.  Besides  the 
necessity  of  thus  creating  from  a  mass  of  disorganized 
materials  the  framework  of  society  itself;  of  devising  a 
system  of  finance  by  which,  from  a  family  of  States 
hitherto  unused  to  any  general  and  common  system, 
revenues  should  be  raised,  bearing  equally  upon  all,  and 
capable  of  meeting  debts  of  extraordinary  magnitude 
for  a  people  whose  numbers  were  limited,  whose  re- 
sources had  not  been  developed,  and  who  were  already 
exhausted  by  a  long  and  expensive  war ;  of  adopting 
plans  of  State  policy  under  novel  circumstances  and  re- 
lations, expansive  as  the  growth  of  the  nation,  and  to 
be  permanent  as  its  existence ;  of  embodying  laws ;  of 
rebuilding  commerce  from  its  wrecks,  and  calling  forth 
arts  and  manufactures  where  they  had  been  unknown ; 
besides  ah1  these,  there  were  still  other  obstacles  in 


66  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

their  path.  Almost  coeval  with  the  birth  of  the 
American  Government,  commenced  a  series  of  wars 
which,  in  extent,  magnitude,  objects,  and  in  impressions 
on  the  political  world,  were  the  most  gigantic  in  the 
history  of  bloodshed.  Institutions,  hoary  with  age  and 
venerable  from  their  sanctity ;  empires  which  had 
seemed  as  permanent  as  the  existence  of  man  ;  despot- 
isms, whose  iron  grasp  had  for  centuries  stifled  the  very 
breathings  of  liberty;  laws,  and  usages  stronger  than 
laws,  which,  for  good  or  evil,  had  moulded  men  after 
their  own  fashion ;  priestcrafts  and  castes,  obeyed  by 
prescription,  were  at  once  swept  away  before  the  whirl- 
wind of  revolution.  The  effects  of  this  convulsion  had 
not  been  confined  to  the  shores  of  Europe  or  the  East. 
They  had  extended  to  America,  also.  Here,  meanwhile, 
the  same  opposition  which  had  exerted  itself  against 
the  formation  of  a  government,  was  continued  against 
its  operation.  It  was  with  mutiny  in  the  crew  that  the 
Federalists  had  to  steer  the  ship  of  state  through  the 
dangers  of  an  unexplored  ocean,  in  this  most  tremen- 
dous storm  which  ever  devastated  the  civilized  world. 
Every  measure  which  might  tend  to  a  development  of 
the  power  of  the  General  Government,  was  resisted. 
Every  embarrassment  was  thrown  in  the  way  of  its  ac- 
tion. The  impatience  which  naturally  arises  from  new 
burdens  was  taken  advantage  of,  though  their  object 
was  to  pay  the  price  of  freedom  itself.  Sedition  was 
stirred  up  to  resist  them.  Falsehood  and  misrepre- 
sentation were  employed ;  distrust  excited  against  tried 
and  firm  patriots.  And  yet,  through  all  these  shoals 
and  quicksands  the  two  Federal  administrations  had 
been  fortunate  enough  to  keep  their  course  harm- 
lessly, and  the  Government  was  sustained  in  all  its 
original  purity.  The  Constitution  remained  intact  and 
unmutilated  in  a  single  feature.  No  emergency  had 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  57 

been  so  pressing,  even  through  storms  of  insurrection 
and  the  most  difficult  diplomatic  negotiations,  to  create, 
in  the  opinion  of  Washington  or  of  Adams,  any  neces- 
sity to  overstep  the  prescribed  limits  of  the  law.  It  re- 
mained for  the  Democrats,  under  the  advice  of  their 
anti-federal  leader,  to  find  out  that  occasions  might 
arise  to  justify  the  President  in  acting  independent  of 
the  Constitution,  as  we  shall  soon  see.  Indeed,  it  is  a 
fact  in  the  history  of  the  Democratic  party,  no  less  true 
than  remarkable,  that,  notwithstanding  they  have  ever 
claimed  to  be,  par  excellence,  the  party  of  strict  con- 
struction, it  has  so  happened  that  every  one  of  the  four 
Presidents  who  have  been  elected  from  their  ranks 
(Van  Buren,  perhaps,  excepted)  have  violated  leading 
features  of  the  Constitution,  and  grasped  powers  which 
can  belong  only  to  despots.  This  charge  has  never  been 
made  against  either  the  two  Federal,  the  two  Whig 
administrations  of  Madison  and  John  Quincy  Adams,  or 
the  no-party  administrations  of  Monroe  and  Tyler,  if 
we  except  the  Alien  and  Sedition  Laws  of  1798.  It 
may  be  remarked,  however,  that  these  laws,  if  uncon- 
stitutional and  odious,  must  be  laid  at  the  door  of  the 
Congress  which  passed,  as  well  as  of  the  President  who 
approved  them.  The  Executive  assumed  nothing.  It 
only  put  in  execution  a  law  of  the  people's  representa- 
tives. But  the  history  of  republics  does  not  furnish 
three  bolder  innovators  on  written  constitutions  than 
Jefferson,  Jackson,  and  James  K.  Polk. 

The  great  achievement  of  Jefferson's  first  four  years 
of  dominion  was  the  purchase  of  Louisiana.  This  trans- 
action is  connected  with  many  incidents  of  singular 
political  history,  to  which,  as  illustrative  of  public  feel- 
ing and  opinion  at  that  period,  it  may  not  be  inappro- 
priate or  unseasonable  to  advert.  When  Jefferson 
ascended  the  Presidential  steps,  he  was  regarded  with 
3* 


58  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

strongly  contrasted  feelings  by  the  two  great  parties  of 
the  country.  By  his  own,  he  was  represented  as  the 
advocate  of  religious  freedom  and  of  the  rights  of  man ; 
the  great  apostle  of  liberty ;  the  friend  of  our  revolu- 
tionary ally,  France ;  the  foe  of  British  influence ;  a  re- 
former, philosopher,  sage,  and  genuine  republican. 
The  Federalists  looked  on  him  in  a  far  different  light. 
They  charged  him  with  being  a  revolutionist  and  Jaco- 
bin ;  with  being  blindly  devoted  to  France,  and  per- 
versely opposed  to  England  ;  with  being  hostile  to  the 
Constitution,  and  the  promoter  of  partyism ;  with  being 
a  free-thinker  in  politics  and  religion,  whose  learning 
was  used  to  pervert  rather  than  to  uphold  the  land- 
marks of  virtue  and  liberty.  They  argued  that  his 
messages  and  his  writings  prove  him  to  have  had  in 
view,  through  his  entire  political  and  administrative 
career,  only  three  great  purposes,  and  that  his  whole 
efforts  and  influence  were  directed  to  their  accomplish- 
ment. These  were,  say  they,  the  aggrandizement  of 
France,  the  humiliation  of  England,  and  the  demolition 
of  Federalists  as  a  party,  and  the  expatriation  of  all 
who  held  that  faith.  There  can  be  very  little  doubt 
that  Jefferson  was  liable  to  all  three  of  these  charges. 
But  it  is  not  for  us  rashly  to  say  that  the  aggrandize- 
ment of  France,  or  the  humiliation  of  England,  were 
the  sole  objects  of  his  foreign  policy,  or  that  the  anni- 
hilation of  Federalism  was  his  chief  object  at  home. 
The  purchase  of  Louisiana,  or  rather  the  circumstances 
attending  that  purchase,  have  been  cited  as  evidence 
of  the  first  proposition,  and,  collaterally,  of  the  second. 
The  same  may  be  said,  reversely,  of  the  embargo  and 
non-intercourse  laws.  It  is  with  the  first  of  these  that 
we  have  now  to  do,  and  the  facts  premised  will  enable 
the  reader  to  understand  more  clearly,  and  to  apply  as 
he  may  deem  proper,  the  historical  incidents  belonging 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  59 

to  that  transaction.  But  we  must  here  remark,  that 
the  purchase  of  that  territory  was  the  first  of  those 
violent  shocks  which  the  Constitution  has  since  repeat- 
edly sustained  under  Democratic  administrations.  The 
blows  have  been  sedulously  followed  up  since,  and  all 
the  agitation  which  ever  distracted  the  country,  or  se- 
riously threatened  its  peace,  has  grown  out  of  this 
Democratic  principle  and  practice  of  territorial  aggran- 
dizement. Louisiana,  Texas,  California,  and  New  Mex- 
ico have  come  to  us,  for  weal  or  for  woe,  through 
Democratic  agency,  and  as  on  them  must  rest  the  re- 
sponsibility and  consequences  of  their  annexation,  so, 
likewise,  let  them  have  the  credit  for  what  benefits 
have  ensued  or  may  yet  ensue.  But  the  Constitution 
is  not  healed,  its  infractions  are  not  extenuated  by 
pointing  out  and  pleading  the  benefits,  commercially 
and  politically,  that  have  followed  from  the  purchase 
of  Louisiana.  The  wound  has  been  inflicted,  and  the 
gap  fairly  and  widely  opened  for  future  aggressions  of 
a  similar  character.  The  sanctity  of  the  instrument 
has  been  repeatedly  and  roughly  violated,  and  no  one 
is  able  to  tell  or  to  foresee  where  the  mischief  will  end, 
or  how  far  the  precedent  may  be  abused  by  subsequent 
acts.  History  too  truly  teaches  that  the  illegal  or  un- 
constitutional exercise  of  power  in  the  best  of  times, 
for  the  real  benefit  of  the  people  and  with  their  silent 
acquiescence,  has  hardly  ever  failed  to  be  resorted  to, 
as  a  precedent,  in  the  worst  of  times  and  often  for  the 
worst  party  or  selfish  purposes.  Recent  political  events, 
under  the  administration  of  President  Polk,  afford,  to 
our  own  eyes,  a  most  striking  confirmation  of  the  truth 
of  the  lesson. 

The  years  1762-63  were  marked  by  fierce  struggles 
on  the  American  continent  between  England,  France, 
and  Spain.  During  the  first  year  France  ceded  to 


60  tfHOMAS  JEFFEKSOtf. 


Spain  the  island  of  "New  Orleans  and  all  her  possessions 
west  of  the  Mississippi  river,  and  the  name  of  Louisi- 
ana was  thus  limited  to  that  part  of  the  valley.  After 
the  close  of  the  Revolutionary  War,  in  settling  the 
boundaries  of  the  United  States,  some  contentions  arose 
between  our  own  and  the  Spanish  Government,  espe- 
cially as  regarded  the  free  navigation  of  the  Mississippi. 
These  differences  were  not  adjusted  until  1795,  when, 
during  the  administration  of  Washington,  his  Catholic 
Majesty  agreed  by  the  treaty  of  San  Lorenzo,  that  "the 
citizens  of  the  United  States  shall  be  permitted,  for  the 
space  of  three  years  from  this  time,  the  navigation  of 
the  Mississippi,  with  a  right  to  deposit  their  merchan- 
dise and  effects  in  the  port  of  New  Orleans."  From 
several  causes,  however,  this  treaty  was  not  fulfilled 
until  1798,  and,  most  probably,  but  for  a  change  of  ad- 
ministration here,  a  war  between  Spain  and  the  United 
States  would  have  been  the  consequence.  In  1796 
Spain  and  the  French  Republic  formed  an  alliance, 
offensive  and  defensive  ;  and  at  that  time  France  began 
a  series  of  negotiations  with  a  view  to  the  recovery  of 
her  ancient  province  of  Louisiana.  This  was  not  effect- 
ed till  1800,  under  the  consulate  of  Napoleon,  when, 
by  the  treaty  of  St.  Ildefonso,  Spain  retroceded  to 
France  the  colony  of  Louisiana,  with  the  boundaries  it 
had  when  given  up  to  Spam  in  1763.  Spain,  however, 
still  continued  to  exercise,  nominally  at  least,  the  powers 
of  government  in  the  country,  and  in  1802  the  Intend- 
ant  of  the  province  gave  notice  that  American  citizens 
would  no  longer  be  permitted  to  deposit  their  goods  at 
New  Orleans,  and  this,  too,  without  assigning,  as  by  the 
terms  of  the  treaty  of  San  Lorenzo,  "  any  equivalent 
establishment  at  any  other  place  on  the  river."  This 
extraordinary  violation  of  national  faith  was  followed  up 
by  acts  of  the  most  offensive  nature.  The  Spaniards  cap- 


,       THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  61 

tured  and  carried  into  their  ports  numbers  of  American 
vessels,  destroyed  or  confiscated  American  property, 
and  imprisoned  the  American  Consul.  This  conduct 
very  justly  excited  the  most  wide-spread  indignation 
among  our  western  citizens,  and  many  threatened  to 
march  down  the  country,  and  take  forcible  possession 
of  New  Orleans.  These  outrages  occurred  long  ante- 
rior to  the  assembly  of  Congress,  in  December,  1802, 
and  yet,  strange  to  say,  the  executive  message  was  en- 
tirely silent  on  the  subject.  In  January,  1803,  the 
House  promptly  called  for  information  concerning  so 
delicate  a  matter,  and  this  brought  the  fact  of  treaty 
violation  on  the  part  of  Spain  officially  to  light.  A 
message  was  debated  with  closed  doors,  which,  as  Jef- 
ferson must  certainly  have  known  of  the  outrages  be- 
fore the  session  began,  leaves  us  to  deduce  questionable 
and  unfavorable  opinions  of  his  conduct.  It  certainly 
was  strange  and  unaccountable,  indicative  of  but  little 
spirit,  and  shrouded  with  a  politic  caution  and  forbear- 
ance that  would  have  done  honor  to  Louis  the  Elev- 
enth. 

When  redress  for  these  wrongs  and  a  compliance 
with  treaty  stipulations  were  demanded  of  Spain,  the 
American  minister  was  informed  that  Louisiana  had 
been  ceded  to  France.  Jefferson  then  asked  for  two 
millions  of  dollars,  and  set  on  foot  a  negotiation  for  the 
purchase  of  "  New  Orleans  and  the  provinces  of  East 
and  West  Florida."  Mr.  Monroe  and  Mr.  Livingston 
were  joined  in  the  mission,  and  set  out  immediately  for 
Paris. 

About  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  the  American 
Envoys,  Great  Britain  began  to  manifest  symptoms  of 
alarm  at  the  ambitious  projects  and  growing  power  of 
Napoleon,  and  particularly  in  his  acquisition  of  Lou- 
isiana, and  the  contemplated  possession  of  that  exten- 


62  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

sive  country  with  a  large  army.  With  this  view  the 
fleet  and  troops  under  General  Victor,  destined  for  that 
country,  were  kept  so  long  blockaded  that  they  were 
finally  disembarked,  and  turned  to  a  different  service. 
The  inventive  genius  of  Napoleon  suggested  an  imme- 
diate remedy.  He  found  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  occupy  Louisiana,  and  he  therefore  resolved 
to  exchange  it  for  money,  which  France  needed  far 
more  than  she  needed  transatlantic  territory.  The  fit- 
ful peace  of  Amiens  was.  drawing  to  its  close,  and  the 
bad  faith  of  England  was  about  to  plunge  Europe  into 
a  war  that  laid  low  all  the  Continent,  that  crippled  her 
own  power  and  nearly  exhausted  her  means  and  credit, 
and  that  carried  death  and  devastation  in  its  track 
through  a  long  series  of  well  nigh  fifteen  years.  So 
soon  as  the  French  Emperor  had  resolved  on  his  course, 
he  convoked  his  counsel,  and  announced  to  them  the 
approaching  rupture.  This  was  early  in  March,  and 
Mr.  Monroe  had  not  then  joined  Mr.  Livingston,  our 
Minister  resident  in  France.  The  designs  of  the  Em- 
peror are  unfolded  by  the  characteristic  speech  made 
to  his  confidental  advisers,  and  seem  strikingly  to  com- 
port with  the  subsequent  testimony  of  John  Randolph, 
"  that  France  wanted  money,  and  must  have  it."  "  I 
will  not,"  said  Napoleon,  "keep  a  possession  which 
would  not  be  safe  in  our  hands,  which  would  perhaps 
embroil  me  with  the  Americans,  or  produce  a  coldness 
between  us.  I  will  make  use  of  it,  on  the  contrary,  to 
attach  them  to  me,  to  embroil  them  with  the  English, 
and  to  raise  up  against  the  latter,  enemies  who  will 
one  day  avenge  us,  if  we  should  not  succeed  in  aveng- 
ing ourselves.  My  resolution  is  taken;  I  will  give 
Louisiana  to  the  United  States.  But  as  they  have  no 
territory  to  cede  to  us  in  exchange,  I  will  demand  a 
sum  of  money  towards  defraying  the  expenses  of  the 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  63 

extraordinary  armament  which  I  am  projecting  against 
England.''  This  declaration  was  made  in  March,  only 
a  fews  days  after  the  memorable  scene  with  Lord 
Whitworth,  the  English  Ambassador  to  France.  With 
his  usual  impetuosity,  the  First  Consul  sent  Marbois 
directly  to  Mr.  Livingston,  with  instructions  to  open 
negotiations  forthwith,  concerning  the  purchase.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  Mr.  Monroe  arrived  in  Paris,  he  found 
the  business  to  his  hands,  and  that,  instead  of  the  island 
of  New  Orleans  and  the  small  territory  of  East  and 
West  Florida,  alone,  Napoleon  was  offering  to  cede 
the  whole  extensive  territory  west  of  the  Mississippi. 
This  was  a  most  startling  proposition.  The  American 
negotiators  were  confined  by  certain  minute  instruc- 
tions, and  limited  as  to  the  amount  to  be  expended. 
But  Napoleon,  bent  on  war,  and  eager  for  the  strife, 
urged  them  to  a  speedy  conclusion  of  preliminaries ; 
and  on  the  30th  of  April  the  bargain  was  struck,  and 
for  a  consideration  of  fifteen  millions  of  dollars,  Lou- 
isiana was  transferred  from  the  dominion  of  France  to 
that  of  the  United  States.  Early  in  May,  the  peace  of 
Amiens  was  terminated,  and  Napoleon,  having  thus 
supplied  his  chests,  opened  the  scene  of  those  bloody 
wars  which  shook  Europe  to  its  deepest  foundations, 
blasted  the  commercial  prosperity  of  the  world,  and 
ended  with  the  total  humiliation  and  subjection  of 
France,  while  his  own  life  was  wasted  away  on  the 
friendless  shores  of  St.  Helena. 

The  acquisition  of  this  territory  was  a  perilous  and 
most  extraordinary  assumption  of  undelegated  power 
by  one  who  claimed  to  be  a  model  Democrat  and  a 
strict  constructionist.  It  wTas  seriously  condemned,  on 
principle,  by  all  the  opponents  of  the  administration, 
among  whom  John  Randolph,  of  Roanoke,  already 
dissatisfied  with  the  JefFersonian  policy,  now  took  the 


64  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

most  prominent  position.  The  main  grounds  of  their 
opposition  were,  that  the  French  title  was  contingent 
only,  that  the  undefined  boundaries  would  furnish  a 
cause  for  future  contentions,  that  a  fraudulent  title  had 
been  obtained  from  Spain  through  the  Godoy  ministry, 
which  might  subsequently  be  disavowed  and  repu- 
diated ;  that  Louisiana  was  not  then  in  the  actual  pos- 
session of  France  but  of  Spain,  which  latter  objected 
to  the  arrangement,  and  that  the  increase  of  Executive 
patronage  consequent  on  so  vast  an  acquisition  would 
render  the  President  almost  a  despot.  But  there  were 
higher  grounds  of  opposition  than  these,  and  they  are 
grounds  which  still  exist  in  principle,  and  are  impreg- 
nable to  argument.  These  grounds  are  founded  in  the 
Constitution  of  the  United  States.  When  the  treaty 
was  submitted  to  the  House  of  Representatives  for  the 
purpose  of  having  it  carried  into  effect,  the  question 
as  to  the  constitutionality  of  that  part  of  it  which 
stipulated  for  the  admission  of  the  country  into  the 
Union,  was  made  and  warmly  debated.  It  was  con- 
ceded that  foreign  territory  might  be  acquired  either 
by  conquest  or  by  purchase,  and  then  retained  as  a 
colony  or  province;  but  could  not  be  admitted  as  a 
State  without  an  amendment  of  the  Constitution.  It 
was  argued  that  the  Government  of  this  country  was 
formed  by  a  union  of  States,  and  the  people  had  de- 
clared in  the  preamble  that  the  Constitution  was  estab- 
lished "to  form  a  more  perfect  union"  of  the  "United 
States."  The  United  States  here  mentioned  could  not 
be  mistaken.  They  were  the  States  then  in  existence, 
or  such  other  new  States  as  should  be  formed  within 
the  limits  of  the  Union,  conformable  to  the  provision 
of  the  Constitution.  Every  measure,  therefore,  con- 
tended the  opposition,  which  tends  to  infringe  the 
present  Union  of  the  States  here  described,  was  a  clear 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  65 

violation  of  the  very  first  sentiment  expressed  in  the 
Constitution.  The  incorporation  of  a  foreign  territory 
into  the  Union,  so  far  from  tending  to  preserve  the 
Union,  was  a  direct  inroad  upon  it ;  because  it  de- 
stroyed the  "  perfect  union  "  contemplated  betwixt  the 
original  parties  by  interposing  an  alien  and  a  stranger 
to  share  the  powers  of  government  alike  with  them. 

Pressed  by  arguments  of  this  kind,  and  by  the  opin- 
ions of  JeiFerson  himself,  those  who  advocated  the 
treaty  took  medium  grounds,  contending  that  the 
treaty  merely  stipulated  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
ceded  territory  should  be  hereafter  admitted  into  the 
Union,  according  to  the  principles  of  the  Constitution  ; 
that  by  taking  possession  of  the  territory  it  did  not 
necessarily  follow  that  it  must  be  admitted  into  the 
Union;  that  this  would  be  an  after  question;  that 
the  territory  would  not  be  admitted  into  the  Union 
unless  warranted  by  the  principles  of  the  Constitu- 
tion. But  they  were  met  by  the  answer  that  there 
was  no  difference,  in  principle,  between  a  direct  incor- 
poration and  a  stipulation  that  such  incorporation 
should  take  place ;  because,  as  the  national  faith  was 
pledged  in  the  latter  case,  the  incorporation  must  take 
place  ;  that  it  was  of  no  consequence  whether  the  treaty 
itself  gave  such  incorporation,  or  produced  the  laws 
which  gave  it ;  and  that  the  question  still  returned 
whether  there  exists,  under  the  Constitution,  a  power 
to  incorporate  a  foreign  nation  or  people  into  the  Union 
either  by  a  treaty  or  by  law.  Latter  experience,  we 
may  here  remark,  en  passant,  has  afforded  the  ground 
of  proposing  as  a  further  query,  whether  such  can  be 
done  by  a  mere  joint  resolution  of  the  Senate  and 
House  of  Representatives,  independent  of  the  treaty 
power  under  the  Constitution,  and  in  utter  disregard 
of  the  two-thirds  rule  !  And  yet  this  was  done  by  the 


66  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

same  legitimately  descended  radical  Democracy  in  the 
case  of  Texas,  which,  in  our  humble  opinion,  has  about 
as  much  Constitutional  connection  with  this  Union  as 
Cuba  or  Liberia. 

But  it  is  no  less  singular  than  true  that  Jefferson 
himself  confessed,  to  the  fullest  extent,  to  the  unconsti- 
tutionality  of  such  acquisition  of  territory,  or  of  its  ad- 
mission into  the  Union  as  a  State.  He  admits  that  the 
Constitution  will  bear  no  such  latitudinous  construc- 
tion, yet  recommends  the  adoption  of  the  treaty,  and 
afterwards,  the  incorporation  of  Louisiana  into  the 
Union.  The  volumes  before  us  contain  divers  letters 
illustrative  of  this  inconsistency  between  theory  and 
practice,  and  explanatory  of  so  strange  an  anomaly. 
He  addresses  Lincoln,  and  Breckenridge,  and  Nicholas 
particularly,  arguing  most  conclusively  against  the  con- 
stitutionality of  the  very  act  he  had  recommended,  and 
which  he  resolved  to  sanction  as  President.  In  one 
place  he  puts  the  question  in  its  strongest  light  by  say- 
ing, "  I  do  not  believe  it  was  meant  that  we  might  re- 
ceive England,  Ireland,  Holland,  &c.,  which  would  be 
the  case  on  your  (viz.,  the  Attorney  General's)  con- 
struction." If  not  these,  it  might  be  asked,  how  will 
we  admit  Louisiana ;  or,  if  Louisiana,  why  not  England, 
Ireland,  and  Holland  ?  It  is  evident  that  if  the  clause 
of  the  Constitution  can  be  construed  so  as  to  admit 
one,  the  same  rule  of  construction  will  cover  the  ad- 
mission of  all ;  or,  vice  versa,  if  one  be  excluded  by  the 
Constitution,  all  are  excluded.  That  posterity  to  which 
Jefferson  is  so  fond  of  appealing,  and  which  has  wit- 
nessed each  successive  onslaught  and  "partisan  foray  on 
the  Constitution  which  have  grown  out  of  and  been 
justified  to  the  people,  from  this  precedent  and  this 
conduct  of  the  great  Democratic  apostle,  must  judge 
also  how  far  the  first  comports  with  the  clause  of  the 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  67 

Constitution  specifying  that  new  States  "  may  be  ad 
mitted  by  Congress,"  and  another  clause  binding  the 
President  on  oath  to  protect  and  defend  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States."  We  have  only  to  remark 
that  if  Congress  be  the  power  to  admit  new  States,  it 
is  clear  that  such  States  can  be  formed  only  out  of  ter- 
ritory belonging  to  the  United  States  at  the  time  the 
power  was  given,  for,  by  the  same  Constitution,  the 
Congress  cannot,  in,  any  manner,  approach  a  foreign 
government.  This  is  a  prerogative  of  the  President 
and  Senate.  As  respects  the  inconsistency  of  Jeffer- 
son's conduct  with  his  opinions,  and  then  these  with 
respect  to  the  form  of  obligation  prescribed  to  be  taken 
by  the  President  on  his  accession  to  that  office,  candor 
demands  nothing  short  of  severe  censure.  The  Consti- 
tution is  not  to  be  made  subordinate  to  expediency,  and 
an  upright  officer  must  respect  his  oath,  if  we  would 
desire  to  steer  our  political  course  in  harmony  and 
safety.  If  the  Rubicon  is  passed,  Rome  must  lie  at  the 
mercy  of  the  dictator.  She  will  have  nothing  to  shield 
her  from  indignity,  for  that  is  the  sacred  boundary. 
Neither  will  fancied  or  prospective  benefits  justify  a  de- 
parture from  the  plain  letter  of  the  Constitution,  or 
from  the  stringency  of  official  obligation.  Every  Presi- 
dent might  constitute  himself  a  judge,  and  frame,  in 
this  manner,  a  pretext  for  any  conquest  or  any  expen- 
diture of  the  public  money.  As  illustrative  of  this  we 
might  point  to  the  successive  innovations  which  have 
followed  the  acquisition  of  Louisiana.  The  Floridas, 
Texas,  California,  and  New  Mexico  were  all  the  natu- 
ral fruits  of  this  first  spurious  blossom.  The  late 
President,  fortified  by  illustrious  examples  and  prece- 
dents, pursued  an  unscrupulous  course  of  conquest  with 
scarcely  a  decent  pretext,  expending  millions  of  money, 
and  destroying  thousands  of  men,  and  in  defiance  of 


68  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

the  inevitable  consequences  of  civil  discord  and  sec- 
tional agitations.  Since  1803  the  country  has  scarcely 
been  five  years  in  repose.  It  has  been  torn  and  dis- 
tracted by  ill-boding  dissensions.  The  tone  of  public 
sentiment  has  been  infected.  It  has  been  poisoned 
with  the  thirst  for  some  species  of  political  excitement. 
-At  the  North,  the  Canadas  afford  fruitful  sources  for 
indulgence  in  this  vicious  propensity.  At  the  South, 
since  Texas  has  been  annexed  and  since  Mexico  has 
been  subdued  and  pillaged,  Cuba  has  become  the  centre 
of  this  dangerous  attraction,  and  sooner  or  later  must 
share  the  fate  of  the  two  former.  The  public  taste  of 
both  sections  seeks  gratification  only  in  this  species  of 
furor.  We  are  constrained  to  say  that  all  this  is  justly 
chargeable  to  the  example  of  Jefferson,  and  whether  it 
bring  weal  or  woe,  his  fame  must  answer  to  that  pos- 
terity to  which  he  appeals. 

The  great  mass  of  the  people,  however,  were  agreed 
as  to  the  importance  of  this  acquisition  of  Louisiana, 
and  all  must  acknowledge  that,  bating  the  wounds  in- 
flicted on  the  Constitution,  its  purchase  has  resulted  in 
incalculable  benefits  to  the  United  States ;  thus  Jeffer- 
son was  so  fortunate  as  to  find,  that  an  act  which  might 
have  called  for  impeachment  under  some  circumstances, 
has  been  regarded  as  the  most  meritorious  of  his  pub- 
lic career.  So  much,  we  perceive,  is  the  world  gov- 
erned in  its  public  conduct,  by  considerations,  rather 
of  interest  and  policy,  than  of  conformity  to  established 
rules  of  law. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  disguised  that,  in  his  haste  either 
to  accommodate  France,  or  to  avoid  a  collision  with 
Spain,  Jefferson  suffered  the  purchase  to  be,  in  some 
sense,  unwisely  concluded.  In  the  first  place,  the  sum 
of  fifteen  millions  was  probably  thrice  as  much  as  needed 
to  have  been  given,  because  Napoleon  knew,  at  the 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  69 

time  of  the  purchase,  that  on  the  renewal  of  war  in  Eu- 
rope the  whole  country  of  Louisiana  would  be  taken 
possession  of  by  the  British,  and  consequently  be  lost 
both  to  France  and  to  Spain.  In  the  next  place,  the 
treaty  was  glaringly  imperfect  from  the  fact  that  no 
definable  or  tangible  boundaries  had  been  fixed  or 
agreed  on  as  respected  the  territory  transferred.  Con- 
sequently, Spain  being  exasperated  any  way,  a  state  of 
hostility  betwixt  her  own  and  the  cabinet  at  Washing- 
ton soon  sprung  up  in  relation  to  the  legitimate  bound- 
aries of  Louisiana.  The  United  States  claimed  to  the 
river  Perdido,  east  of  the  Mississippi,  and  to  the  Rio 
Bravo  on  the  west.  But  the  negotiation  under  this 
mission  entirely  failed.  The  Spanish  Court  not  only 
denied  the  right  of  the  United  States  to  any  portion 
of  territory  east  of  the  Mississippi ;  but,  in  the  most 
peremptory  manner,  declared  their  claim  to  the  Rio 
Bravo  to  be  totally  unfounded.  A  long  and  angry  cor- 
respondence took  place  between  the  Spanish  negotiator, 
Don  Pedro  Cevallos,  then  Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs, 
and  the  American  Ministers.  In  the  negotiations  with 
France  respecting  the  purchase  of  Louisiana,  Mr.  Mon- 
roe and  Mr.  Livingston  had  been  given  to  understand 
that  the  territory  extended  as  far  east  as  the  Perdido, 
and  that  the  town  of  Mobile  would  fall  within  the  limits 
of  the  cession.  And  we  may  also  here  observe  that  at 
the  same  time  Bonaparte  had  given  verbal  assurance, 
that  should  the  United  States  desire  to  purchase  the 
Floridas,  his  aid  towards  effecting  that  object  would 
be  readily  afforded  at  some  future  suitable  time.  In 
consequence  of  this  intimation,  Mr.  Monroe,  while  at 
Paris,  in  1804,  made  known  the  object  of  his  mission  in 
a  note  to  Talleyrand,  and  requested  aid  of  Bonaparte 
agreeable  to  his  former  assurances.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  a  change  had  come  over  the  spirit  of  the  French 


70  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

Emperor's  policy.  The  means  acquired  in  1803  by  the 
sale  of  Louisiana  had  been  totally  exhausted  by  his 
subsequent  wars,  and  he  was  now  again  pressingly  in 
need  of  money.  He  therefore  made  a  convenience  of 
short  memory,  and  not  only  professed  total  forgetful- 
ness  of  ah1  such  assurances,  but  gave  unmistakable  signs 
of  a  favorable  disposition  towards  Spain.  This,  how- 
ever, was  one  of  those  artful  demonstrations,  or  feints, 
so  often  and  so  consummately  practised  by  Napoleon, 
in  the  accomplishment  of  his  ambitious  designs.  Spain 
was  indebted  to  France.  France  was  in  need  of  money, 
and  Spain  had  no  money  with  which  to  pay  her  debts. 
He  therefore  once  again  resolved  to  make  the  United 
States  subsidiary  towards  raising  means  for  the  prose- 
cution of  his  European  conquest.  With  this  view,  dur- 
ing the  negotiation  between  Spain  and  the  United 
States  respecting  the  boundaries  of  Louisiana,  a  certain 
paper  in  the  handwriting  of  Talleyrand,  but  not  signed 
by  him,  was  put  into  the  hands  of  the  American  Minis- 
ter at  Paris.  It  required  but  little  acquaintance  with 
French  diplomacy  to  gather  a  full  clue  to  the  designs 
of  the  Emperor  from  this  paper.  It  set  forth  that  the 
present  was  a  favorable  time  for  the  United  States  to 
purchase  the  Floridas  of  Spain ;  that  the  same  could 
probably  be  obtained ;  and  that  Napoleon  would  assist 
the  United  States  by  using  his  influence  with  Spain  to 
induce  her  to  part  with  them.  It  was  also  suggested, 
in  the  same  indirect  way,  that  in  order  to  insure  a  fa- 
vorable result,  the  United  States  must  assume  a  hostile 
attitude  towards  Spain,  and  put  on  the  appearance  of 
enforcing  their  claims.  These  singular  and  indirect 
communications  were,  of  course,  made  known  to  the 
American  President;  and  Jefferson,  with  unaccountable 
deference  to  such  questionable  advice,  embodied  the 
same  in  his  message  to  Congress.  After  going  through 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  71 

with  a  concise  preliminary  statement  of  the  matter  in 
dispute,  and  with  divers  hints  as  regarded  the  probable 
dispositions  of  France  in  case  of  hostilities  with  Spain, 
he  adopts  almost  the  precise  language  of  the  anonymous 
paper  when  he  says,  "  Formal  war  is  not  necessary,  and 
will  not  probably  follow;  but  the  protection  of  our 
citizens,  the  spirit  and  honor  of  our  country,  require 
that  force  should  be  interposed  to  a  certain  degree.  It 
will  probably  contribute  to  advance  the  object  of  peace. 
But  the  course  to  be  pursued  will  require  the  command 
of  means,  which  it  belongs  to  Congress  exclusively  to 
yield  or  deny."  It  will  be  perceived  that  this  message 
covers  every  design,  and  answers  the  whole  purposes 
of  Napoleon.  His  advice  was  scrupulously  followed, 
though  given  quite  exceptionably  ;  hostilities  were 
threatened,  and  Spain  was  bullied.  The  "  means  "  were 
what  the  Emperor  wanted,  and  he  resolved  to  coax  and 
dally  with  the  United  States,  and  to  intimidate  Spain, 
that  the  first  might  furnish  to  the  last  money  enough 
to  extinguish  her  indebtedness  to  France,  and  thus  ena- 
ble him  to  prosecute  his  series  of  conquests. 

In  consequence  of  this  message,  Congress  voted 
two  millions  of  dollars  that  Jefferson  might  purchase 
the  Floridas.  But  the  appropriation  was  not  made  in 
quiet.  It  met  with  the  most  resolute  opposition.  John 
Randolph  openly  denounced  it  as  subserviency  on  the 
part  of  Jefferson  to  the  Emperor  of  France,  and  then 
made  public,  for  the  first  time,  that,  on  his  arrival  at 
Washington,  the  Secretary  of  State  had  told  him, 
"  that  France  wanted  money,  and  that  we  must  give  it 
to  her,  or  have  a  Spanish  and  French  war."  Randolph 
was  the  Chairman  of  the  Committee  to  whom  this 
message  was  referred.  He  opposed  the  two  million 
appropriation  on  several  grounds,  ah1,  as  we  think, 
equally  cogent  and  reasonable.  The  money  had  not 


72  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

been  explicitly  asked  for  in  the  message ; — that,  after 
the  failure  of  negotiations  based  on  right,  to  purchase 
the  territory  would  be  disgraceful ; — that  France,  thus 
encouraged,  would  never  cease  meddling  with  our  af- 
fairs, so  long  as  she  could  extort  money  from  us ;  and, 
that  the  Floridas,  as  he  thought,  and  as  France  had  at 
first  admitted,  were  regularly  ceded  to  us  at  the  time 
of  the  Louisiana  purchase,  and,  therefore,  France  was 
bound  to  make  good  her  word  and  our  title.  But  op- 
position availed  nothing.  The  money  was  appropriated, 
and  it  is  certain  that  the  same  never  reached  Spain. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  a  fact  of  history,  that  it  was  car- 
ried to  Paris  on  board  the  United  States  ship  Hornet, 
and  passed  into  the  coffers  of  Napoleon.  Not  a  foot 
of  territory,  as  the  facts  of  the  case  will  clearly  demon- 
strate, was  acquired  by  this  appropriation.  In  fact,  it 
may  be  safely  inferred  that,  having  stopped  it  in  Paris 
on  a  claim  that  Spain  owed  France,  Napoleon  used  it 
to  subjugate  the  very  power  to  whom  it  was  justly 
due,  if  due  at  all,  and  to  whom  it  should  properly  have 
been  paid.* 

Anterior  to  Jefferson's  Presidency,  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States,  administered  by  those  who  aided 
in  its  compilation,  had  been  found  to  answer  its  purpose 

*  The  treaty  of  the  cession  of  the  Floridas,  concluded  at  Washing- 
ton 22  February,  1819,  between  Spain  and  the  United  States,  having 
been  ratified  on  the  one  part  by  the  King  of  Spain,  and  by  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  on  the  other  part,  possession  was  taken  of 
these  provinces,  according  to  treaty.  On  the  first  of  July,  General 
Andrew  Jackson,  who  had  been  appointed  Governor  of  the  provinces 
of  the  Floridas,  issued  a  Proclamation,  declaring,  "  that  the  government 
heretofore  exercised  over  the  said  provinces,  under  the  authority  of 
Spain,  has  ceased,  and  that  of  the  United  States  of  America  is  established 
over  the  same,  that  the  inhabitants  thereof  will  be  incorporated  in  the 
union  of  the  United  States,  as  soon  as  may  be  consistent  with  the 
principles  of  the  federal  constitution,  and  admitted  to  the  enjoyment  of 
all  the  privileges,  rights,  and  immunities  of  the  citizens  of  the  United 
Slates. — Holmes1 8  AnnaU,  vol.  2d,  p.  495. 


THOMAS   JEFFEESON.  3 

without  being  subjected  to  violent  constructions,  or 
rather  to  flagitious  misconstructions.  It  was  founded 
in  genuine  republican  principles,  and  one  of  the  great- 
est errors  of  republics  was  sought  to  be  avoided.  This 
was  territorial  acquisitions  and  extension.  If  other 
than  the  original  limits  of  the  original  Thirteen  States 
had  been  contemplated  in  its  provisions  for  territorial 
governments,  a  line  added  would  have  closed  the  ques- 
tion and  settled  the  point  forever.  This  was  not  done, 
and  the  obvious  inference  is,  as  Jefferson  himself 
argued,  that  no  foreign  territorial  acquisition  was  ever 
anticipated  or  provided  for  by  the  framers  of  the  Con- 
stitution. The  only  clause  which  the  radical  and  pro- 
gressive democracy  can  claim,  on  which  to  rest  their 
policy  of  territorial  extension,  is  the  clause  which  de- 
clares that  Congress  may  admit  new  States.  We  have 
even  thought  this  a  strained  interpretation,  and  a  bad 
argument.  All  the  rules  for  construing  language  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  lay  down,  as  the  first  prin- 
ciple, that  a  sentence  must  be  interpreted  connectedly, 
iind  all  its  parts  brought  into  a  harmonious  whole,  if 
we  would  seek  its  true  meaning.  We  cannot  arrive  at 
its  meaning  by  construing  only  detached  portions,  or 
clauses  of  a  clause.  The  postulate  in  this  instance  is 
destroyed  by  applying  the  rule  to  which  we  have  re- 
ferred ;  for  the  latter  portion  of  the  clause  relied  on  by 
the  democracy  affords  a  key  by  which  the  first  may  be 
fully  understood.  "  New  States  may  be  admitted  by 
the  Congress  into  this  Union ;  but  no  new  State  shall 
be  formed  or  erected  within  the  jurisdiction  of  any 
other  State ;  nor  any  State  Reformed  by  the  junction 
of  two  or  more  /States  or  parts  of  States  without  the 
consent  of  the  legislatures  of  the  /States  concerned, 
as  well  as  of  the  Congress."  * 

*  Const.  U.  S. 
4 


74  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

The  first  part  of  this  sentence,  granting  the  power, 
is  governed  by  the  latter  clauses,  defining  the  manner 
in  which  States  are  to  be  formed,  if  it  is  governed  at 
all ;  and  if  it  was  not  intended  to  be  thus  governed, 
the  two  parts  of  the  whole  clause  should  have  been 
disconnected  by  something  else  than  a  mere  semicolon. 
Nor  is  it  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  "  Legislatures  '* 
spoken  of  were  foreign  Legislatures ;  for  this  govern- 
ment cannot  prescribe  for  foreign  Legislatures.  Im- 
mediately succeeding  this  is  the  clause  giving  to  Con- 
gress the  care  and  regulation  of  the  "  territory  "  and 
"other  property  belonging  to  the  United  States? 
which  concludes  by  declaring  "that  nothing  in  this 
Constitution  shall  be  so  construed  as  to  prejudice  any 
claims  of  the  United  States,  or  of  any  particular  State." 
This  can  refer  only  to  negotiations  for  territory  be- 
tween the  United  States  and  "  particular "  States  of 
"this  Union."  Neither  of  these  could  well  have  con- 
flicting "  claims"  to  the  "territory  or  other  property," 
of  any  other  country  than  this. 

We  shall  not  dwell  longer  on  this  branch  of  the 
subject.  These  are  briefly  pur  views  of  Constitutional 
construction.  It  will  be  seen  that  Jefferson  him- 
self had  previously  urged  the  same  doctrine,  though 
his  conduct  clearly  belied  his  inculcations,  and  this, 
too,  in  the  face  of  his  official  oath.  An  example  so 
pernicious,  traced  to  a  person  so  revered  as  a  Consti- 
tutional expounder  by  a  great  and  powerful  party  who 
profess  to  own  his  principles,  cannot  be  too  severely  or 
too  unqualifiedly  condemned.  A  life  of  action,  it  is 
true  to  some  extent  at  least,  must  be  a  life  of  compro- 
mise, if  it  is  to  be  useful.  A  public  man  is  often  under 
the  necessity  of  consenting  to  measures  which  he  dis- 
approves, lest  he  should  endanger  the  success  of  other 
measures  which  he  thinks  of  vital  importance.  But 


THOMAS    JEFFERSON.  75 

the  historiographer  lies  under  no  such  necessity,  and 
we  feel  it  to  be  a  sacred  duty  to  point  out  the  errors 
and  to  condemn  the  malfeasances  of  one  who  yet  ex- 
ercises a  baneful  influence  on  the  mind  of  the  coun- 
try. Nor  do  we  conceive  that  Thomas  Jefferson  is 
entitled  to  the  charity  of  this  rule  when  adjudging  his 
public  conduct.  From  1792  until  his  election  to  the 
Presidency,  he  had  been  particularly  addicted  to  in- 
veighing against  the  slightest  Constitutional  departures 
in  others.  He  had  thus  well  nigh  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing temporary  disrepute  on  certain  measures  of  Wash- 
ington's administration,  and  had  stirred  up  against  that 
of  the  elder  Adams  such  a  storm  of  popular  indignation 
as  was  satisfied  only  with  the  overthrow  of  Federalism, 
and  which  even  yet  exists  in  common  connection  with 
his  name  and  his  party. 

This  is,  as  we  have  remarked,  only  the  first  of  those 
glaring  infractions  of  the  Constitution  which  marked 
the  dawn  of  the  Democratic  administrations,  and  which 
have  since  continued  to  distinguish  the  Democratic 
successors  of  the  great  Apostle.  We  have  yet  before 
us  the  task  of  narrating  others  of  a  similar  character, 
which  must,  in  the  minds  of  some,  at  least,  diminish 
the  hitherto  overshadowing  and  undisputed  claims  of 
one  distinguished  by  the  superior  reverence  of  his 
countrymen.  This  must  be  reserved  for  a  future 
number. 

The  effects  of  a  change  from  good  government  to 
bad  government,  says  a  great  essayist,  are  not  fully 
*  felt  for  some  tune  after  the  change  takes  place.  The 
talents  and  virtues  which  a  good  Constitution  generates 
may,  for  a  time,  survive  that  Constitution.  Thus  the 
administration  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  notwithstanding 
its  assaults  on  vital  features  of  the  Constitution  and  its 
approximation  to  the  calm  of  despotism,  is  generally 


76  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

regarded  as  the  golden  age  of  genuine  Democratic 
government.  Thus,  also,  do  the  reigns  of  princes  who 
have  established  despotisms  by  means  of  their  personal 
popularity,  and  supposed  subserviency  to  the  popular 
will,  shine  in  history  with  a  peculiar  brilliancy.  During 
the  first  years  of  tyranny  is  reaped  the  harvest  sown 
during  the  last  years  of  liberty.  The  Augustan  age 
was  rich  in  great  minds  formed  in  the  generation  of 
Cicero  and  Cffisar.  And  yet,  says  Macaulay,  most 
aptly,  the  fruits  of  the  policy  of  Augustus  were  reserved 
for  posterity.  So,  also,  to  bring  the  matter  home,  the 
age  of  Jefferson,  Madison,  Monroe,  and  John  Quincy 
Adams,  was  rich  in  minds  formed  in  the  generation  of 
Washington.  The  fruits  of  this  reign  of  liberty  were 
fully  reaped  during  the  dictatorship  of  Andrew  Jack- 
son. In  the  time  of  Jefferson,  such  was  the  prestige 
of  his  name  in  connection  with  Democracy,  the  masses 
of  the  people  could  not  be  made  to  understand  that 
liberty  and  the  Constitution  might  be  seriously  endan- 
gered by  his  example.  The  effects  of  this  example 
were  effectively  checked  by  the  conservative  adminis- 
trations of  Madison,  Monroe,  and  the  younger  Adams, 
two  of  whom  were  recognized  as  prominent  leaders  of 
a  great  party,  which  was  fast  rising  on  the  ruins  of 
Federalism  to  oppose  the  anarchial  tendencies  of  the 
radical  Jeffersonian  Democracy.  But  under  the  iron 
dominion  of  Andrew  Jackson,  on  whom,  as  we  have 
said,  the  mantle  of  the  great  Apostle  had  fallen,  the 
whirlwind  of  Jacobinism  rose  to  its  height,  and  for 
eight  years  the  country  bowed  submissively  beneath 
the  rule  of  a  fierce  spirit,  whose  pernicious  impulses 
were  never  controlled  by  considerations  of  prudence 
or  of  consequences.  In  our  next  we  shall  enter  on  a 
period  of  the  Jefferson  administration,  if  not  more  im- 
portant, at  least  more  entertaining  in  point  of  historical 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON,  77 

incident,  and  which  serves  to  illustrate,  equally  with 
the  acts  just  narrated,  the  deleterious  influences  of  Jef- 
ferson's example  in  politics  and  his  administration  of 
the  Federal  Government. 


PART  IV. 

WE  now  enter  on  a  period  of  Jefferson's  administra- 
tion which  excites  intense  interest  and  curiosity,  and 
has  connected  it  with  the  fortunes  of  a  man  whose 
great  talents  and  address  had  foreshadowed  for  him  a 
reputation  of  the  most  enviable  exaltation,  when-the 
path  to  renown  was  crossed  by  his  evil  genius.  That 
man  was  Aaron  Burr,  and  his  evil  genius  was  Thomas 
Jefferson.  It  was  a  grapple  between  giant  champions, 
whose  resources  of  mind  were  too  vast,  and  whose  en- 
mity, mutually  and  bitterly  entertained,  was  too  deeply 
rooted  to  terminate  the  struggle  with  other  than  ap- 
palling consequences  to  one  party  or  to  both.  In  one 
case,  however,  mind  was  aided  by  power  and  vast  po- 
litical and  official  influence,  and,  as  might  be  supposed, 
these  united,  overwhelmed  the  weaker  antagonist. 

Aaron  Burr  was  a  native  of  the  State  of  New  Jer- 
sey, and  one  of  the  early  graduates  of  Princeton  Col- 
lege. His  earliest  exhibitions  of  character  pointed  to 
those  traits  which  were  afterwards  developed  in  his 
eventful  career.  He  was  impetuous,  restless,  persever- 
ing, and  wilful.  Soon  after  graduating,  he  joined  the 
Revolutionary  army,  under  Montgomery  and  Arnold, 
and  accompanied  those  generals  in  their  awful  and 
dreary  march  across  the  wilderness  to  Quebec.  His 
indifference  to  fatigue  and  hunger,  and  his  strict  impar- 
tiality as  an  officer,  sharing  with  his  soldiers  the  priva- 
tions of  the  march,  and  openly  condemning  an  opposite 
conduct  in  Arnold,  gained  him  the  admiration  and 


78  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

deep  affection  of  the  men,  while  it  elicited  the  commen- 
dation and  respect  of  a  majority  of  the  officers.  After 
the  siege  of  Quebec  was  formed,  Burr  volunteered  his 
services  as  aid  to  Montgomery,  and  was  by  that  officer's 
side  when  he  fell.  He  caught  the  dying  patriot  in  his 
arms,  and  in  defiance  of  the  storm  of  grapeshot  which 
roared  around,  maintained  his  post  of  affection  and  duty 
until  proper  assistance  was  obtained.  .  Burr  was  the 
only  one  of  Montgomery's  suite  who  escaped  on  that 
fatal  day. 

Returning  from  Canada,  he  became  an  inmate  of 
Washington's  military  family,  at  head-quarters  near 
New  York,  and  participated  in  all  the  actions  which 
occurred  between  the  American  and  British  armies 
around  that  city.  But  his  intercourse  with  the  Com- 
mander-in-chief soon  became  restrained  and  unpleasant, 
and  resulted  in  a  mutual  personal  aversion,  which  lasted 
during  Washington's  lifetime,  but  for  which  no  particu- 
lar reason  was  ever  assigned.  In  consequence,  when 
the  disaffection  broke  out  against  Washington  among 
the  army  officers  in  1777,  and  it  was  contemplated  to 
supersede  him  with  Gates,  Burr  actively  and  openly 
took  sides  with  the  latter.  This  opposition,  added  to 
previous  unpleasant  passages,  only  served  to  increase 
Washington's  prejudices.  In  long  subsequent  years, 
during  the  first  Presidency  under  the  Constitution,  this 
dislike  was  bitterly  evidenced,  and  the  depth  of  Wash- 
ington's aversion  fully  developed.  A  deputation  of  the 
Democratic  members  of  Congress,  appointed  by  a  cau- 
cus, thrice  waited  on  the  President,  with  a  request  that 
he  would  appoint  Burr  Minister  to  France.  They  were 
thrice  peremptorily  refused,  Washington  declaring  each 
time  that  he  would  never  appoint  one  to  office  in  whose 
integrity  he  had  no  confidence.  This  anecdote  should 
not,  however,  be  rashly  taken  as  irrevocable  and  infal- 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  79 

lible  evidence  against  Burr.  It  was  known  that,  from 
the  first,  Burr  had  expressed  himself  freely  and  harshly 
as  to  the  qualifications  of  the  Commander-in-chief,  that 
he  had  condemned  his  movements  around  Long  Island 
and  New  York,  and  that  he  had  severely  criticized  the 
plan  of  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  in  which  battle  Burr 
commanded  a  brigade  in  Lord  Stirling's  division. 
These  facts  were  well  known  to  Washington,  as  well  as 
the  partiality  entertained  by  Burr  for  Gates ;  and,  in 
the  absence  of  any  tangible  cause  ever  assigned  by  the 
General  or  his  friends,  we  are  forced  to  conclude  that  a 
shade  of  personal  pique  and  rancor  may  have  influenced 
the  usually  strict  and  admirable  equanimity  even  of 
this  illustrious  and  revered  personage.  He  would,  in- 
deed, have  been  more  than  mortal,  could  he  have  en- 
tirely subdued  all  such  feelings — feelings  common  to 
the  best  as  well  as  to  the  worst  of  men. 

In  March,  1779,  Burr  tendered  his  resignation  to 
the  Commander-in-chief.  It  was  accepted  by  Washing- 
ton, in  a  letter  the  most  complimentary  and  flattering 
to  Burr's  military  ambition.  He  subsequently  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  practice  of  the  law  in  Albany,  and  in  the 
spring  of  1782  was  married  to  Theodosia  Prevost, 
widow  of  Colonel  Prevost  of  the  British  army,  and 
mother  of  that  Theodosia  who  afterwards  became  so 
distinguished  in  connection  with  her  father  and  hus- 
band, and  whose  mysterious  and  melancholy  fate,  while 
giving  rise  to  many  awful  and  fanciful  conjectures, 
blighted  and  crushed  the  sole  remaining  earthly  hope 
of  her  solitary  and  suffering  parent. 

The  history  of  Burr's  political  career  in  New  York 
and  in  the  Senate  -of  the  United  States,  his  contest  with 
Jefferson  for  the  Presidency,  and  his  duel  with  Alexan- 
der Hamilton,  are  well  known  to  every  general  reader, 
and  have  been  elsewhere  alluded  to  in  this  essay.  He 


80  fHOMAS   JEFFEKSOtf. 

left  the  chair  of  the  Vice  President  in  March,  1805,  and 
closed  his  connection  with  the  Senate  with  one  of  the 
most  eloquent  and  affecting  valedictories  ever  made  on 
such  an  occasion.  "  The  whole  Senate,"  says  Mr.  Da- 
vis, in  his  memoir,  "  were  in  tears,  and  so  unmanned, 
that  it  was  half  an  hour  before  they  could  recover  them- 
selves sufficiently  to  come  to  order,  and  choose  a  Vice 
President  pro  tern.  One  Senator  said  that  he  wished 
the  tradition  might  be  preserved,  as  one  of  the  most 
extraordinary  events  .he  had  ever  witnessed.  Another 
being  asked,  the  day  following  that  on  which  Mr.  Burr 
took  his  leave,  how  long  he  was  speaking,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  said  he  could  form  no  idea;  it  might 
have  been  an  hour,  and  it  might  have  been  but  a  mo- 
ment ;  when  he  came  to  his  senses,  he  seemed  to  have 
awakened  as  from  a  kind  of  trance." 

Bending  beneath  the  weight  of  heavy  afflictions,  and 
pursued,  both  by  the  Democratic  and  Federal  parties, 
with  a  vengeance  that  seemed  to  compass  nothing  short 
of  his  life,  Burr,  now  fallen  from  his  high  estate,  be- 
came a  wanderer  and  a  desperado.  The  envy  and  ran- 
cor of  Jefferson  were  fully  aroused  against  him,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  recent  rivalry,  and  the  Democratic 
party,  of  course,  sided  with  Jefferson.  He  had  slain 
Hamilton  in  a  duel  the  year  before,  and  the  Federal 
party  panted  for  the  blood  of  their  idol's  murderer  ;  for 
as  murderer  he  had  been  denounced  and  indicted  in 
New  York.  His  mind  and  temperament  were  too  ar- 
dent, and  his  ambition  too  insatiable  and  restless  to  re- 
main inactive.  The  domestic  circle  afforded  him  no 
comfort.  The  charm  of  his  home,  once  his  delight  and 
happiness,  had  fled.  The  wife  of  his  youth,  the  devoted 
partner  of  his  joys  and  his  adversities,  was  cold  in  the 
tomb.  His  daughter,  sole  pledge  of  their  love,  was 
married  and  removed  into  a  distant  State  of  the  South. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  81 

His  property,  suffering  for  want  of  attention  during 
his  ostracism,  had  melted  away,  leaving  him  distress- 
ingly in  debt.  His  early  friends  avoided  him,  as  one 
contaminated  or  proscribed,  whose  approach  was  a 
shadow  of  evil,  and  whose  touch  was  death.  Profes- 
sional pursuits  were  out  of  the  question.  Law  business 
was  not  to  be  intrusted  to  a  fugitive  from  the  law. 
Political  advancement  was  forever  closed  to  his  efforts. 
No  party  would  recognize  him  who  was  alike  abhorred 
by  Democrat  and  Federalist — the  object  of  Jefferson's 
hatred,  and  whose  hands  were  stained  with  the  blood 
of  Alexander  Hamilton.  Thus  bereaved  and  branded, 
Burr  became  another  Ishmael.  Every  man's  hand  was 
against  him ;  it  was  no  wonder  that  his  hand  should 
soon  be  turned  against  every  man.  His  manner,  his 
conduct,  his  conversations,  his  very  looks  were  watched 
with  the  eye  of  suspicion.  He  fled  from  the  haunts  of 
man  and  sought  the  wilderness,  in  hopes  there  to  create 
some  employment  calculated  to  appease  his  restlessness, 
and  turn  aside  the  gloomy  fate  which  threatened  to 
overwhelm  him.  Even  here  he  was  not  beyond  espio- 
nage. The  friends  and  parasites  of  the  jealous  and  in- 
flamed President  kept  their  eyes  on  him,  and  sent  fre- 
quent reports  to  Washington.  If  he  sojourned  at  the 
house  of  any  man,  that  man  was  from  that  day  marked. 
He  stayed  a  short  time  with  General  Dayton.  Dayton 
welcomed  him  as  an  old  Revolutionary  soldier,  failed  to 
abuse  hospitality  by  communicating  with  the  President, 
and,  as  a  penalty  for  his  contumacy,  was  subsequently 
indicted,  along  with  Burr,  as  a  conspirator.  It  was 
the  same  in  the  case  of  John  Smith.  He  responded  to 
the  invitation  of  Herman  Blannerhasset,  who  was 
anxious  to  join  in  his  land  speculations,  and  paid  a  visit 
to  the  famous  island  in  the  Ohio.  Blannerhasset,  nar- 
rowly escaping  with  life,  was  afterwards  stigmatized 
4* 


82  THOMAS   JEFFJERSON. 

as  a  traitor,  plundered  of  his  wealth,  and  became  a 
melancholy  wanderer.  He  lounged  a  few  days  at  the 
Hermitage,  and  even  enlists  its  honored  tenant  in  his 
scheme  of  invading  Mexico,  in  case  of  war  with  Spain. 
The  lion  nature  of  Andrew  Jackson  had  not  then  been 
aroused,  and  the  emissaries  of  Jefferson  approached 
him  with  monitory  voices.  They  succeeded  for  the 
moment,  and  he  writes  an  anxious  letter  to  Burr.  Burr 
replies  to  his  satisfaction,  and  then  the  awakened  lion 
raises  his  defying  mane ;  and  for  once  the  proscribers 
falter,  and  are  ignominiously  baffled  in  their  selfish 
machinations.  They  succeeded  in  ruining  every  body 
else  who  had  held  the  remotest  connection  with  this 
hapless  exile. 

The  Grand  Juries  of  Kentucky  twice  lodged  accusa- 
tions against  Burr.  He  was  honorably  acquitted  on 
both  occasions.  On  both  of  these  occasions  he  was  de- 
fended by  Henry  Clay,  who  was  afterwards  so  far 
duped  by  false  testimony  in  the  hands  of  Jefferson,  as 
to  repent  his  efforts,  and  then  openly  affronted  (by  re- 
fusing to  speak  to)  Burr  at  the  New  York  City  Hall. 
And  yet  it  is  a  fact  well  authenticated  that  the  very 
document  in  possession  of  Jefferson,  and  on  which 
rested  the  evidence  of  Burr's  treason,  had  been  muti- 
lated by  General  Wilkinson,  and  he  so  acknowledged  at 
Richmond.  At  this  time  there  was  a  strong  probability 
of  hostilities  between  Spain  and  the  United  States,  and 
it  was  known  that  the  President  had  instructed  the  com- 
mander of  the  forces  to  drive  the  Spaniards  beyond  the 
Sabine.  It  had  become  a  popular  sentiment,  even 
then,  that  in  case  war  was  begun  it  should  end  only 
by  the  conquest  of  Mexico.  To  this  project  no  one 
was  more  intensely  wedded  than  Andrew  Jackson,  as 
evinced  both  by  a  letter  to  Governor  Claiborne,  pro- 
duced by  General  Wilkinson  as  an  appendix  to  his  tes- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  83 

timony  on  the  Burr  trial,  and  by  his  sympathy  with 
Aaron  Burr.  Burr  was  a  military  man  by  nature,  and 
his  greater  ambition  was  to  excel  in  military  achieve- 
ments. He  was  more  tenacious  of  his  revolutionary 
than  of  either  his  political  or  professional  fame.  He 
was  evidently  fired  with  the  scheme  of  invading  and 
conquering  so  splendid  a  country  as  Mexico,  with  its 
ancient  treasures,  its  mines,  and  its  magnificent  cities ; 
and  the  more  so,  that  he  might  thus  retrieve  his  fallen 
fortunes.  He  was  not  friendly  enough  to  the  Govern- 
ment to  ask  or  obtain  honorable  service,  with  such 
prominence  as  he  courted,  under  its  direct  auspices. 
His  plan,  as  disclosed  on  the  trial  at  Richmond,  evi- 
dently was  to  raise  an  independent  force,  to  be  near 
the  scene  of  action,  and  to  be  prepared  to  strike  a 
grand  blow  on  the  first  opening  of  hostilities.  With 
this  view  he  must  have  entered  into  communication 
with  General  Wilkinson ;  for  as  that  officer  was  already 
in  high  command,  and  enjoyed  the  boundless  confidence 
of  his  Government,  Burr  was  too  sagacious  to  have  at- 
tempted his  seduction,  by  offering  him  peril  and  uncer- 
tainty for  safety  and  certainty.  This  tallies  with  the 
testimony  of  General  Eaton,  not  with  his  inferences. 
It  is  not  contradicted  by  that  of  Commodore  Truxton 
or  Dudley  Woodbridge,  who  was  to  have  furnished 
the  boats  intended  to  convey  the  expedition.  Nor 
would  Burr,  without  a  clear  understanding  with  Wil- 
kinson, have  undertaken  to  pass  the  whole  American 
army  with  less  than  one  hundred  ragamuffins.  This 
project  of  invading  Mexico,  under  the  countenance  and 
not  by  orders  of  the  Government,  was  certainly  not  in- 
tended as  treason,  which  consists  only  in  "  levying  war 
against  the  United  States,"  or  aiding  and  comforting 
the  enemies  of  the  country.  It  certainly  was  a  rash 
and  reprehensible  movement,  and  if  designed  to  have 


84  THOMAS 

been  pursued  independently  of  the  Government,  it  was 
a  punishable  offence,  but  not  treason.  The  more  relia- 
ble conclusion  is  that  Burr,  unfriendly  to  Jefferson,  and 
bitterly  persecuted  by  him,  endeavored  to  use  Wilkin- 
son as  an  instrument  for  opening  hostilities  ;  for,  under 
his  orders,  Wilkinson  might  do  this  at  any  time,  and 
thus  bring  the  whole  within  the  shelter  of  the  Govern- 
ment. The  plan  w^as  to  proceed  under  the  apparent 
authority  of  the  Government,  without  directly  asking 
its  connivance.  And  if,  it  may  be  remarked,  General 
Wilkinson,  who  was  clearly  playing  a  double  part  (per- 
haps it  might  not  be  unfair  to  say  a  treble  part),  in- 
tended to  play  the  traitor  towards  Burr,  it  is  certain 
that  he  played  his  hand  well.  Burr  never  suspected 
him  until  after  his  interview  with  one  Swartwout,  whom 
he  had  sent  to  Wilkinson  with  the  letter  in  cipher.  As 
soon  as  he  had  made  the  discovery,  he  abandoned  the 
idea,  turned  attention  again  to  the  Washita  purchase, 
and  resolved  to  await  a  more  favorable  crisis.  This 
lucky  discovery  saved  his  life.  Being  thus  guarded,  he 
directed  himself  to  other  projects  less  questionable.  If 
Burr  had  been  proven  to  have  been  at  Blannerhasset's 
island  when  the  boats  started  down  the  Ohio,  the  overt 
act  would  have  been  made  out,  and  in  all  probability 
the  Government  would  have  obtained  a  conviction. 

By  this  time,  however,  Jefferson  had  fixed  his  talons 
on  Burr,  and  appearances  seemed  to  justify  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  blood  of  his  ancient  rival  would  be  soon 
spilled  to  satiate  his  jealousy  and  rancor.  He  had  been 
informed  of  Burr's  movements  months  before;  but 
merely  to  suppress  the  mischief  was  no  part  of  the  ta'c- 
tics  he  had  prescribed  for  his  conduct.  Burr  was  al- 
lowed to  continue  his  preparations,  and  Jefferson  looked 
on  supinely,  hi  the  hope  that  some  plain  act  which 
might  be  tortured  into  overt  proceeding,  should  have 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  85 

been  unwarily  committed.  His  design  was  not  so 
much  to  quell  disaffection  as  to  secure  his  prey.  At 
length  a  communication  from  General  Wilkinson  in- 
duces him .  to  believe  that  the  time  has  come,  and  he 
issues  the  order  for  the  destruction  of  the  boats  and 
property  of  the  expedition  at  the  island,  and  for  the 
arrest  of  Burr.  The  first  is  done  forthwith ;  and  in  a 
short  time,  the  main  victim  being  stopped  near  Fort 
Stoddart,  on  the  Tombigbee,  is  conveyed  by  a  military 
escort  to  the  city  of  Richmond,  Va.,  and  placed  on 
trial  for  his  life. 

The  proceedings  of  this  famous  trial  have  been  long 
embodied  as  a  part  of  the  national  history.  A  more 
important  state  trial  never  occurred,  not  excepting 
even  that  of  Warren  Hastings.  All  that  was  interest- 
ing or  romantic  in  Burr's  previous  history — all  that 
could  charm  the  fancy  in  connection  with  Blannerhasset 
and  his  beautiful  island  home — all  that  was  magnificent 
and  inspiring,  as  regarded  the  ancient  country  of  the 
Aztecs  and  the  Montezumas,  were  concentrated  and 
thrown  into  this  trial.  There  were  startling  rumors, 
too,  that  many  among  the  highest  and  most  popular 
would  be  hurled  from  their  proud  positions  as  the  tes- 
timony progressed.  Added  to  these,  it  was  known 
that  Jefferson  had  enlisted  ardently  in  the  prosecution, 
and  would  move  his  whole  official  influence  to  crush 
the  man  who  had  once  competed  with  him  for  the 
Presidency.  The  odds  against  Burr  were  truly  appal- 
ling, and  his  chances  for  escape  seemed  completely 
blocked.  Against  the  powerful  personal  influence  of 
an -implacable  enemy,  the  machinations  of  two  enraged 
political  parties,  to  whom  he  -was  alike  odious,  the 
whole  artillery  of  the  Government,  and  the  prejudging 
voice  of  an  aroused  and  indignant  nation,  was  opposed 
a  single  individual  stripped  of  power,  and  of  property, 


86  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

and  of  home ;  abandoned  by  friends,  and  from  whom 
even  relatives  shrank  with  trepidation.  In  all  America 
one  only  heart  throbbed  in  unison  with  his  own ;  but 
that  one  heart — devoted — fixed — changeless ;  sensitive 
alike  to  his  joys  and  his  sorrows,  was  to  him  more  than 
all  America,  or  all  the  world.  It  was  the  heart  of 
Theodosia,  "  sole  daughter  of  his  house !  " 

Throughout  the  whole  period  from  the  arrest  until 
the  discharge  of  Burr,  and  his  departure  for  England, 
the  conduct  of  Jefferson  was  obnoxious  to  grave  criti- 
cism, and  evinced  a  want  of  magnanimity  unworthy  of 
his  great  fame  and  his  exalted  station.  True  taste 
would  have  suggested  to  him  a  dignified  neutrality  of 
action,  especially  in  view  of  his  official  prerogative  of 
pardon,  should  the  accused  be  brought  in  guilty ;  but 
more  than  all,  in  view  of  his  past  relations  with  the  dis- 
tinguished prisoner.  He  chose  to  pursue  a  course  less 
delicate ;  aided  the  law  by  personal  exertions,  and  min- 
gled officially  in  the  prosecution  by  employing  eminent 
counsel  to  assist  the  District  Attorney  for  the  United 
States.  It  is  said  that  he  expended  more  than  a  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  of  the  public  money  in  aiding 
this  prosecution.  His  letters  to  the  District  Attorney, 
Mr.  Hay,  are  full  of  the  most  ireful  and  splenetic  effu- 
sions against  the  judge,  the  counsel  for  defence,  and 
the  prisoner.  He  even  condescends  to  charge  the 
Federalists,  as  a  party,  with  sympathizing  in  the  trea- 
sons and  troubles  of  Aaron  Burr.  "  The  Federalists 
make  Burr's  cause  their  own,  and  exert  their  whole  in- 
fluence to  shield  him  from  punishment."  "  Aided  by 
no  process  or  facilities  from  the  Federal  courts,  but 
frowned  on  by  their  new-born  zeal  for  the  liberty  of 
those  whom  we  would  not  permit  to  overthrow  the 
liberties  of  their  country,  we  can  expect  no  revealments 
Trom  the  accomplices  of  the  chief  offender.  Of  treason- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  87 

able  intentions,  the  judges  have  been  obliged  to  confess 
there  is  a  probable  appearance.     What  loophole  they 
will  find  in  the  case,  when  it  conies  to  trial,  we  cannot 
foresee.     Eaton,  Stoddart,  and  Wilkinson  will  satisfy 
the  world,  if  not  the  judges,  of  Burr's  guilt.     The  na- 
tion will  judge  both  the  oifender  and  judges  for  them- 
selves.    If  a  member  of  the  Executive  or  of  the  Legis- 
lature does  wrong,  the  day  is  never,  far  distant  when 
the  people  will  remove  him.     They  will  see  then,  and 
amend,  the  error  in  our  Constitution  which  makes  any 
branch  independent  of  the  nation.     They  will  see  that 
one  of  the  great  co-ordinate  branches  of  the  Govern- 
ment, setting  itself  in  opposition  to  the  other  two,  and 
to  the  common  sense  of  the  nation,  proclaims  impunity 
to  that  class  of  offenders  which  endeavors  to  overturn 
the  Constitution,  and  are  themselves  protected  in  it  by 
the  Constitution  itself;    for  impeachment  is  a  farce 
which  will  not  be  tried  again.     If  their  protection  of 
Burr  produces  this  amendment,  it  will  do  more  good 
than  his  condemnation."     In  this  last  letter,  four  points 
are  very  clearly  made.     It  is  evident  that  he  intends  to 
cast  an  ungenerous  slur  at  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  the 
Federal  judge,  offending;  it  is  evident  that,  in  con- 
ducting Burr's  trial,  having  despaired  of  doing  any 
thing  in  Court,  he  intends  to  play  the  game  out,  to 
arouse  the  anger  of  the  nation  against  the  errors  of 
the  Constitution ;  it  is  evident  that  he  insinuates  an  at- 
tack on  the  independence  of  the  Judicial  department 
of  the  Government ;  and  it  is  evident,  that  in  the  ebul- 
lition  of  his  partisan  acerbity,  he  casts  a  censure  on  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States,  because  their  impeachment 
of  Judge  Chase,  at  a  previous  session^  did  not  terminate 
in  his  displacement.     Now,  with  all  due  deference  to 
the  opinion  of  our  distinguished  subject,  we  must  be 
permitted  to  say,  that  in  our  opinion,  Burr's  projected 


88  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

invasion  of  Mexico,  by  itself,  would  have  done  much 
less  harm  than  this  proposed  degradation  of  the  Judi- 
cial Department  of  the  Government.  We  have  no 
sympathy  with  Jefferson's  views  on  this  question,  and 
hold  them  to  be  wholly  irreconcilable  with  his  professed 
democracy ;  for,  to  our  view,  his  plans  would  ultimately 
have  led  to  a  centralization  of  all  power  in  the  hands  of 
the  Executive.  The  time  may  come  when  a  popular 
President  and  a  subservient  Senate  may  place  in  judi- 
cial seats  mere  instruments  of  Executive  will.  This  is 
one  way  in  which  despotism  may  approach,  and  not  an 
improbable  one  ;  quite  as  probable  as  in  military  form. 
We  have  seen,  thus  far,  sufficient  evidence  to  convince 
us  that  Jefferson,  despite  his  favor  for  democratic  prin- 
ciples, leaned  towards  a  policy  which  strengthened  the 
Executive  arm  of  the  Government,  and  weakened  the 
judicial  arm.  But  besides  claiming  for  the  Executive 
an  ultimate  judicial  authority,  looking  to  entire  supre- 
macy, as  we  have  shown  some  pages  back,  he,  on  this 
occasion,  demanded,  and  had  nearly  obtained,  a  sus- 
pension of  the  Habeas  Corpus,  and  usurped  the  right  to 
seize,  impress,  and  imprison  witnesses.  These  arbitrary 
acts  and  demands  are  in  full  accordance  with  the  spirit 
of  his  letters  just  quoted,  and  go  to  illustrate  that  pub- 
lic liberty  is  not  always  safest  in  the  hands  of  ultra 
Democrats.  Danton  and  Robespierre  conversed  spe- 
ciously, and  harangued  eloquently,  about  the  liberties 
of  France,  when  the  Place  de  Louis  Quinze  was  reek- 
ing daily  with  the  blood  of  slaughtered  victims,  and 
the  guillotine  dealing  its  death  strokes  by  the  minute. 
We  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Jefferson  would  have 
been,  under  like  circumstances,  either  a  Danton  or  a 
Robespierre.  But  we  mean  to  say  that,  in  his  Presi- 
dential conduct  on  this  occasion,  he  was  arbitrary,  vin- 
dictive, and  unjustifiably  bent  on  shedding  the  blood 


THOMAS   JEFFEKSON.  89 

of  Aaron  Burr.  Nor  can  we  at  all  concur  in  his  harsh 
and  vituperative  censures  on  Chief  Justice  Marshall. 
That  eminent  judge  may  have  experienced  uncommon 
embarrassment  at  this  trial,  and,  in  consequence,  ex- 
hibited more  than  usual  hesitation  and  inconsistency  in 
delivering  legal  opinions.  The  array  of  learned  counsel, 
the  vast  importance  of  the  cause,  the  enlightened  audi- 
ences ever  present,  and  the  distinction  and  acknow- 
ledged legal  acumen  of  the  prisoner  himself,  very  natu- 
rally contributed  to  produce  both  embarrassment  and 
occasional  inconsistency.  It  has  rarely  fallen  to  the  lot 
of  any  judge  to  have  had  occasion  to  seek  so  earnestly 
for  the  truth,  both  as  to  law  and  evidence ;  and  none 
ever  presided  with  more  dignity  and  impartiality  in  the 
most  responsible  station  in  which  one  can  be  placed. 
Old  and  previously  settled  principles  of  law  were  more 
than  once  battered  down  by  refined  argument.  New 
principles  and  points  were  sprung,  and  discussed  with 
an  ability  seldom  if  ever  displayed  on  any  former  occa- 
sion. Every  point  of  law  was  jealously  disputed,  on 
one  side  or  the  other,  and  the  nicest  discrimination  was 
necessary  to  distinguish  between  mere  forensic  powers 
and  profundity  of  argument.  Judge  Marshall  proved 
equal  to  all  these  requisites. 

The  conduct  of  Jefferson,  on  this  occasion,  is  liable 
to  reprehension  on  still  another  ground.  He  exhibited 
a  degree  of  intolerance  and  impatience  at  being  crossed, 
that  argued  downright  Jesuitism.  Among  the  counsel 
for  Colonel  Burr  was  old  Luther  Martin  of  Maryland, 
one  of  the  framers  of  the  Constitution.  He  manifested 
a  deep  and  sincere  zeal  in  the  cause  of  his  client,  and, 
when  warranted,  did  not  scruple  to  charge  home  cut- 
tingly on  the  real  prosecutor — Thomas  Jefferson.  He 
especially  animadverted  on  the  President's  presuming 
to  withhold  any  papers  necessary  to  the  defence  of 


90  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

Burr,  and  declared  that  Jefferson's  papers  were  no 
more  sacred  than  those  of  his  client,  who  had  been 
robbed  of  the  same  by  order  of  the  Government.  This, 
together  with  the  charge  of  violating  the  New  Orleans 
post  office,  in  the  person  of  General  Wilkinson,  although 
believed  to  be  true,  stung  Jefferson  to  the  quick,  and 
roused  his  fierce  resentment.  His  rage  might  have 
been  justified,  had  he  suggested  a  less  exceptionable 
means  of  vengeance.  But  passion  and  the  pride  of 
power  blinded  him.  On  the  19th  of  June  he  thus 
writes  to  Mr.  Hay :  "  Shall  we  move  to  commit  Luther 
Martin  as  particeps  criminis  with  Burr  ?  Graybell  will 
fix  on  him  misprision  at  least.  And,  at  any  rate,  his 
evidence  will  serve  to  put  down  this  unprincipled  and 
impudent  Federal  bull-dog,  and  add  another  proof  that 
the  most  clamorous  defenders  of  Burr  are  his  accom- 
plices." We  cannot  imagine  any  language  more  excep- 
tionable than  this,  when  uttered  by  a  high  dignitary  of 
state,  nor  any  course  of  conduct  so  really  mean  and  un- 
fair on  the  part  of  a  chief  magistrate.  It  shows  the 
effervescence  of  an  over-wrought  party  bitterness,  and 
betrays  a  willingness  to  abuse  power  by  using  it  for 
purposes  of  private  revenge.  It  is  well  known  that 
Burr  was  acquitted,  both  as  to  treason  and  to  misde- 
meanor. The  verdict  was  proper,  and  the  only  one 
that  could  have  been  justly  rendered  under  the  circum- 
stances. After  months  of  long  testimony  and  tedious 
legal  arguments,  the  counsel  for  Burr  had  moved  that 
the  further  progress  of  the  trial  be  arrested,  inasmuch 
as  it  had  been  proved  that  Burr  was  not  present  when 
the  overt  act,  as  charged  in  the  indictment,  had  been 
committed,  and  that,  therefore,  all  other  testimony  was 
irrelevant.  This  motion  threw  consternation  and  sur- 
prise among  the  prosecutors,  and  produced  one  of  the 
most  learned,  discursive,  and  powerful  legal  arguments 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  91 

to  be  found  in  the  whole  course  of  judicial  proceedings. 
Wirt  characterized  it  as  "  a  bold  and  original  stroke  in 
the  noble  science  of  defence,  and  as  bearing  marks  of 
the  genius  and  hand  of  a  master."  He  stated  his  ob- 
jections to  the  point,  and  enforced  them  in  one  of  the 
most  splendid  forensic  displays  ever  recorded.  It  will 
stand  a  favorable  comparison  with  Burke's  celebrated 
chef  cfrceuvre  in  the  great  case  of  Warren  Hastings  be- 
fore the  British  Parliament.  Independent  of  its  power 
as  an  argument,  it  stands  unrivalled  in  point  of  elo- 
quence and  emphasis  of  delivery.  After  having  de- 
scribed Burr  and  Blannerhasset ;  coupling  the  first  with 
all  that  was  dangerous  and  seductive,  and  the  last  with 
all  that  was  interesting  and  romantic  ;  painting  vividly 
the  beautiful  island  on  the  Ohio — its  blooming  shrub- 
bery— its  gorgeous  palace — the  noble  library  which 
opened  its  treasures  to  the  master — the  celestial  music 
which  melodized  its  recesses,  and  charmed  "  the  beauti- 
ful and  tender  partner  of  his  bosom  ; "  after  dwelling 
on  its  quiet,  rural  scenes,  and  its  domestic  innocence 
and  loveliness,  interrupted  and  perverted  by  the  arrival 
of  Burr,  he  scouts  the  idea  that  Blannerhasset  can  now  be 
made  principal  instead  of  accessory,  and  closes  with  the 
emphatic  appeal :  "  Let  Aaron  Burr,  then,  not  shrink 
from  the  high  destination  he  has  courted ;  and  having 
already  ruined  Blannerhasset  in  fortune,  character,  and 
happiness  forever,  let  him  not  attempt  to  finish  the  trage- 
dy by  thrusting  that  ill-fated  man  between  himself  and 
punishment."  But  splendor  of  oratory  and  majesty  of 
description  did  not  meet  the  issue,  or  answer  the  case. 
The  defence  held  obstinately  to  the  naked  and  resist- 
less principle  of  the  law,  and  its  inevitable  application 
to  the  point  submitted.  It  involved  all,  it  reached  and 
covered  the  whole  merits  of  the  case,  but  the  Chief 
Justice  did  not  waver.  He  walked  boldly  up  to  his 


92  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

duty,  and  charged  the  jury  that  such  was  the  law.  Of 
course,  a  verdict  of  "Not  Guilty"  was  the  conse- 
quence. 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  this  elaborate  and 
painful  trial,  its  exposures  and  its  mortifications,  and  this 
verdict,  would  end  the  matter,  so  far  as  contentment, 
under  the  consciousness  of  duty  honestly  discharged, 
was  concerned.  The  law  had  had  its  fair  operation, 
the  prosecution  had  staked  all,  the  defence  had  risked 
all,  and  the  jury  had  pronounced.  But  Jefferson  had 
been  deprived  of  his  vengeance,  and  the  event  rankled 
within  his  bosom.  His  anger  and  dissatisfaction  found 
vent,  and,  strange  to  tell,  his  grandson's  has  been  the 
hand  to  parade  his  weakness  and  his  vindictiveness  be- 
fore a  curious  world.  A  letter  to  Mr.  Hay,  found  on 
page  102,  vol.  4th,  of  the  work  before  us,  contains  this 
remarkable  and  petulant  language :  "  The  event  has 
been — (Here  follows  a  number  of  stars,  quite  signifi- 
cant)— that  is  to  say,  not  only  to  clear  Burr,  but  to 
prevent  the  evidence  from  ever  going  to  the  world  (!!!). 
It  is  now,  therefore,  more  than  ever  indispensable,  that 
not  a  single  witness  be  allowed  to  depart  until  his  testi- 
mony has  been  committed  to  writing.  The  whole 
proceedings  will  be  laid  before  Congress  that  they  may 
decide  whether  the  defect — (viz.,  the  omission  to  con- 
vict, we  suppose,) — has  been  in  the  evidence  of  guilt, 
or  in  the  law,  or  in  the  application  of  the  law,  and 
that  they  may  provide  the  proper  remedy  for  the  past 
and  the  future.  *  *  *  This  criminal  (that  is  Burr)  is 
preserved  to  become  the  rallying  point  of  all  the  dis- 
affected and  the  worthless  of  the  United  States,  and  to 
be  the  pivot  on  which  all  the  intrigues  and  conspiracies 
which  foreign  governments  may  wish  to  disturb  us  with, 
are  to  turn.  If  he  is  convicted  of  the  misdemeanor, 
the  Judge  must,  in  decency,  give  us  respite  by  some 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  93 

short  confinement  of  him  ;  but  we  must  expect  it  to  be 
very  short." 

We  must  award  to  Mr.  Thomas  Jefferson  Randolph 
a  more  than  usual  share  of  candor  and  concern  for  the 
public,  in  thus  surrendering  the  worthy  object  of  his 
veneration  to  the  scarifiers  of  political  journalists  'and 
reviewers.  But  we  must  again  object  to  his  taste.  It 
would  have  been  better  to  have  altogether  suppressed 
such  a  letter  to  his  confidential  friend  and  agent ;  but 
it  was  a  grievous  error  to  curtail  and  star  it.  The  in- 
ferences liable  to  be  drawn  from  its  general  tenor  will 
be  far  more  unfavorable  to  his  grandfather  than  would 
be  the  part  of  the  sentence  omitted.  But  the  whole 
letter  is  objectionable, — especially  the  parts  we  have 
quoted  and  italicized.  It  exhibits  the  discontents  of  a 
mind  laboring  under  tormenting  disappointment  at 
having  lost  its  victim.  It  unfolds  the  desire  of  its 
author  to  dishonor  the  Constitution  by  threatening  to 
appeal  from  a  Judicial  Tribunal  to  Congress  and  to 
the  people.  It  shows  that  Jefferson  was  capable  of  un- 
dermining, or  eifdeavoring  to  dishonor,  a  judicial 
officer,  because,  instead  of  laboring  to  convict  and  hang 
an  accused  person,  as  the  President  evidently  wished 
he  should  do,  he  had,  with  the  guard  of  a  jury,  sternly 
administered  the  law.  It  proves  that  Jefferson,  in  the 
fury  of  thwarted  vengeance,  was  willing  to  urge  on 
Congress  to  act  retrospectively,  or  fall  on  some  "  remedy 
for  the  past,"  which  would  still  enable  him  to  pur- 
sue and  destroy  his  enemy,  It  accuses  the  Court 
and  Jury  of  deliberately  preserving  a  criminal,  that  he 
might  incite  "  the  disaffected  and  the  worthless  "  against 
his  country.  !N"ow  we  protest  utterly  against  the  in- 
culcation of  such  principles,  and  must  hold  the  lan- 
guage and  intent  as  eminently  seditious  in  tendency 
We  feel  at  liberty  to  denounce,  and  repudiate  such 


94  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

teachings,  let  them  emanate  from  what  source  they 
may.  Because  Jefferson  is  claimed  as  being  the  apostle, 
par  excellence,  of  Democracy ;  we  do  not  choose  to  re- 
ceive from  him,  under  this  assumed  sanction,  maxims 
that  would  have  startled  Napoleon  in  the  days  of  his 
greatest  power,  and  would  drag  an  English  King  from 
his  throne.  It  will  not  do  to  panegyrize  Republican 
liberty  under  Federal  administrations,  and  then,  in  its 
name,  grasp  at  powers  which  were  never  dreamed  of 
in  connection  with  Federal  usurpations.  The  sedition 
law  of '98,  so  much  complained  of  by  the  nation,  could 
work  its  mischiefs  only  under  the  sanctions  of  a  judicial 
tribunal.  The  Executive  had  very  little  to  do  with  its 
operations.  But  if  Jefferson's  recommendations  at  this 
time  had  been  carried  out ;  if  the  Habeas  Corpus  had 
been  suspended ;  if  the  inculcations  gleaned  from  his 
various  letters  had  been  reduced  to  practice,  the 
Executive  would  have  been  supreme  in  legal  and  civil 
matters,  as  it  is  already  in  military  affairs.  Here  is 
another  and  striking  proof,  that  they  who  boast  most 
speciously  of  genuiue  Democratic  principles,  are  not 
always  the  safest  persons  to  be  trusted  with  power. 

In  connection  with  this  trial  of  Aaron  Burr  is  mixed 
up  another  affair,  which  although  somewhat  collateral 
to  the  main  issue,  yet  serves  to  show  how  determined 
Jefferson  was  to  bring  about  a  speedy  conviction  of  the 
prisoner.  Among  those  who  had  been  violently  arrest- 
ed in  New  Orleans,  by  order  of  General  Wilkinson, 
and  dragged  to  Richmond  to  testify  against  Burr,  was 
a  Dr.  Erick  Bollman.  This  man  was  a  German,  and 
was  distinguished  for  character,  science,  and  enterprise. 
In  1794,  in  company  with  a  young  South  Carolinian,  he 
crossed  the  Austrian  frontiers,  made  his  way  into 
Moravia,  and  resolved  to  undertake  the  desperate  ef- 
fort of  liberating  Lafayette  from  the  dungeons  of  Ol- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  95 

mutz.  By  means  of  his  profession,  he  gained  some 
communication  with  the  captive,  who  was  said  to  be 
gradually  sinking  under  the  effects  of  confinement. 
After  repeated  efforts  they  contrived  to  enable  La- 
fayette to  quit  his  prison,  but  it  was  only  a  momentary 
release.  He  was  soon  retaken,  and  along  with  his  heroic 
friends,  again  buried  in  the  depths  of  his  dungeon. 
So  great  was  the  resentment  against  Bollman  and  his 
coadjutor,  they  were  chained  by  the  necks  to  the  floor 
of  the  apartments  they  severally  occupied.  After  six 
months'  confinement,  however,  Bollman  and  Huger 
were  released  at  the  intercession  of  a  powerful  and 
influential  nobleman.  Bollman  became  a  naturalized 
citizen  of  the  United  States,  and  in  1806,  in  some  way, 
was  connected  with  the  schemes  of  Colonel  Burr. 
In  December  of  that  year,  he  was  arrested,  and 
told  for  the  first  time,  that  he  was  particeps  criminis 
with  a  traitor  at  the  head  of  several  thousand 
troops,  and  whose  design  was  to  levy  war  against  the 
United  States.  Indignant  at  being  thus  wickedly  con- 
nected, and  totally  disbelieving  all  treasonable  intent 
on  the  part  of  Burr,  he  solicited  on  his  arrival  in 
Washington,  a  personal  interview  with  President  Jef- 
ferson. He  there  made  a  full  revelation  of  the  whole 
plan  and  schemes  of  Burr,  so  far  as  he  knew  them, 
utterly  repudiating  all  designs  of  any  attempt  to  dis- 
turb the  Union.  But  he  had  unwarily  committed  him- 
self to  an  artful  diplomatist,  who  cared  little  about  his 
disclaimers  or  impressions,  so  that  he  could  use  him  in 
gathering  any  fact  that  might  subserve  his  purpose  of 
indicting,  convicting,  and  hanging  Aaron  Burr.  A 
short  time  after  this  interview,  and  in  order  to  make 
matters  doubly  sure,  Jefferson  addressed  a  note  to 
Bollman,  adroitly  worded,  and  solicited  him  to  put  in 
writing  what  he  had  communicated  verbally,  but  pledg- 


96  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

ing  his  "  word  of  honor  "  that  the  same  "  should  never 
be  used  against  Bollman,"  and  "  that  the  paper  should 
never  go  out  of  his  hands."  To  this  proposition,  Boll- 
man very  artlessly  and  unhesitatingly,  but  most 
thoughtlessly,  assented.  It  was  the  seal  to  his  ruin 
and  ostracism.  It  was  scarcely  given  before  a  pretext 
was  set  up  .that  it  involved  matters  which  seriously  im- 
plicated the  author  in  Burr's  misdemeanors,  and  that 
sufficient  cause  for  indictment  by  the  grand  jury  existed. 
Bollman  was  a  prisoner,  confidently  relying  on  the 
President's  word  of  honor.  In  June,  1807,  he  was 
summoned  before  the  grand  jury  at  Richmond,  as  a 
witness  against  Burr,  his  testimony  being  predicated 
on  what  he  had  divulged  to  the  President.  By  this 
time  he  had  been  apprised  of  the  snare  set  for  him,  and 
he  refused  to  testify  in  a  case  where  he  might  inculpate 
himself.  But  Jefferson  had  planned  his  tactics.  He 
had  privately  dispatched  to  Mr.  Attorney  Hay,  a  full 
pardon  for  Bollman,  in  order  to  deprive  him  of  that 
plea.  Bollman  not  having  been  indicted  or  tried,  de- 
nied that  he  needed  any  pardon,  and  refused  it  with 
indignation  in  open  court,  as  a  "  badge  of  infamy " 
proffered  him  by  Jefferson.  The  District  Attorney 
repeatedly  thrust  it  at  him,  and  to  Bollman's  great  sur- 
prise, referred  undisguisedly  to  the  document  he  had 
penned  for  the  President,  on  his  word  of  honor  that 
the  same  should  not  be  used  against  him,  and  never  go 
out  of  the  President's  hands.  At  this  tune,  Bollman 
charges,  it  was  not  used  against  him  only,  but  actually 
was  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Hay,  who  had  allowed  General 
Wilkinson  to  read  it  also.  The  existence  of  such  a  pa- 
per became  so  notoriously  public,  that  it  was  even  sent 
for,  and  demanded  by  the  grand  jury,  sitting  on  the 
case  of  Aaron  Burr. 

Now,  let  these  transactions  be  construed  as  they 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  97 

may,  the  most  charitable  and  indulgent  will  find  much 
to  condemn  in  the  conduct  of  Jefferson.  One  fact  is 
clear  and  unquestionable.  Jefferson  certainly  broke 
deliberately  his  word  of  honor,  and  without  assigning 
any  reason  to  palliate  the  violation.  In  his  zeal  to  con- 
vict Burr,  Jefferson  had  withheld  papers  necessary  to 
the  defence ;  had  sanctioned  the  most  violent  outrages 
on  personal  liberty,  to  compel  the  attendance  of  wit- 
nesses ;  had  violated  the  law  by  removing  the  accused 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  territory  in  which  the  crime 
was  alleged  to  have  been  committed ;  had  opened  the 
doors  of  the  national  treasury  to  engage  assistant  coun- 
sel in  the  prosecution  ;  had  turned  prompter  and  prose- 
cutor himself;  had  refused  to  attend  court  on  a  sub- 
poena duces  tecum;  had  offered,  by  dangerous  stretches 
of  power,  to  break  up  the  defence  by  imprisoning,  on  a 
doubtful  charge,  one  of  the  leading  counsel,  and  had 
done  all  that  he  dared  to  do,  to  gain  the  cherished  ob- 
ject of  his  desire.  But  all  this  was  better  than  betray- 
ing the  confidence  of  an  injured  man,  a  prisoner  ^and  in 
his  power.  Candor,  as  a  reviewer,  calls  on  us  to  place 
the  brand  of  unqualified  reprehension  on  such  conduct. 
Before  dismissing  this  branch  of  our  subject,  it  may 
not  be  inappropriate  to  mention,  that  Burr  always  de- 
nied that  treason  against  the  United  States  or  the  dis- 
memberment of  the  Union  ever  formed  any  part  of  his 
design  in  these  movements.  He  denied  it  first,  when 
questioned  seriously,  to  Andrew  Jackson.  He  denied 
it,  in  the  confidence  of  client  and  counsel,  to  Henry 
Clay.  He  denied,  under  the  seal  of  devoted  friendship, 
to  Senator  Smith,  declaring,  "  if  Bonaparte  with  all  his 
army  was  in  the  western  country  for  the  purpose  of  ac- 
complishing that  object,  they  would  never  again  see 
salt  water."  He  denied  it  indignantly  on  his  dying 
bed,  exclaiming,  "I  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
5 


98  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

taking  possession  of  the  moon,  and  informing  my  friends 
that  I  intended  to  divide  it  among  them."  A  careful 
perusal  of  the  evidence  adduced  on  his  trial,  and  an 
impartial  review  of  all  the  facts  and  circumstances  of 
his  case,  satisfies  us  that  Burr  was  sincere  in  the  above 
declarations.  The  precise  objects  he  had  in  view  will, 
in  all  probability,  never  be  ascertained.  His  ambition 
and  restlessness  led  him  into  many  wild  schemes,  and 
perhaps  into  many  censurable  errors,  but  we  are  never- 
theless satisfied  that  he  was  a  persecuted  man,  and  the 
victim  of  a  malignant  proscription. 

PART   V. 

THE  attention  of  the  President  was  now,  however, 
suddenly  diverted  from  the  domestic  affairs  of  the  na- 
tion to  more  important  matters  relating  to  its  inter- 
course and  understanding  with  foreign  governments. 
While  the  trial  of  Burr  was  in  active  progress  at  Rich- 
mond, an  excitement  of  a  character  far  different  and 
more  intense  was  raging  at  the  neighboring  city  of 
Norfolk,  and  ere  long  it  had  spread  its  contagious  fires 
from  Maine  to  the  Mississippi.  It  seemed  as  though 
some  latent  torch  of  the  Revolution  had  recaught  its 
expiring  flames,  and  was  again  on  the  point  of  kindling 
into  a  patriotic  blaze  that  defied  all  extinction  save  in 
the  blood  of  our  ancient  oppressor,  now  turned  into  a 
haughty  and  insulting  enemy.  The  cause  of  such  em- 
phatic and  unanimous  hostile  demonstrations  we  shall 
now  proceed  to  narrate,  as  prefatory  to  the  most  inter- 
esting epoch  of  the  Jeffersonian  administration,  and 
which  cannot  be  justly  passed  over  in  a  review  intended 
to  reach  the  whole  of  Jefferson's  public  life. 

The  22d  day  of  June,  1807,  was  signalized  by  an 
act  of  aggression  and  outrage  on  the  rights  and  honor 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  99 

of  the  nation,  which,  even  at  this  distance  of  time,  must 
excite  a  feeling  of  anger  and  mortification  in  all  Ameri- 
can bosoms.  For  some  months  previously  to  this  date, 
a  British  squadron,  under  command  of  Admiral  Berke- 
ley, had  been  anchored  near  Norfolk,  with  the  ex- 
pressed intention  of  enforcing  His  Britannic  Majesty's 
recent  proclamation,  requiring  all  subjects  of  Great 
Britain  to  be  forcibly  impressed,  wherever  found  on  the 
high  seas,  into  British  service.  With  this  view,  a  de- 
mand had  been  made  by  the  British  Consul  at  Norfolk 
on  Commodore  Barron  of  the  frigate  Chesapeake,  then 
lying  at  Norfolk,  for  four  seamen  on  board  his  vessel, 
claimed  as  deserters  from  British  ships.  With  the  ad- 
vice and  privity  of  the  Cabinet  at  Washington,  Com. 
Barron  peremptorily  refused  to  comply,  assigning  as  a 
reason  that  he  had  been  cautious  in  making  up  his 
crew,  and  that  he  had  no  deserters  on  board.  He  then, 
in  obedience  to  orders,  put  to  sea  on  his  destination  to 
the  coast  of  Barbary,  unfit  and  unprepared,  as  yet,  for 
sustaining  an  action,  and  never  dreaming  that  an  attack 
would  be  made  on  him  by  an  armed  enemy  lying  within 
the  jurisdiction  of  his  own  Government,  and  in  the  very 
eyes  of  the  whole  American  people.  But  such  did,  in- 
deed, actually  occur.  The  Chesapeake  had  scarcely 
got  out  of  Hampton  Roads,  and  was  yet  off  Cape 
Henry,  when  the  British  vessel  Leopard,  of  fifty-four 
guns,  detached  itself  from  the  Admiral's  squadron,  and 
put  to  sea  in  pursuit.  The  Chesapeake  was  soon  over- 
hauled, and  the  four  sailors  again  formally  demanded. 
The  American  commander  again  refused,  when  the 
Leopard  cleared  for  action,  and  forthwith  began  a 
heavy  fire  on  the  American  frigate.  Strange  to  say, 
the  Chesapeake  offered  not  the  slightest  resistance ;  but 
after  having  stood  under  the  fire  of  the  British  guns  for 
near  half  an  hour,  losing  some  thirty  men  in  killed  and 


100  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

wounded,  besides  sustaining  heavy  damage  in  her  hull, 
the  frigate's  colors  were  struck,  and  a  message  was 
sent  to  the  British  commander  that  the  Chesapeake 
was  his  prize.  An  officer  from  the  Leopard  came  on 
board,  mustered  the  crew,  and  having  seized  the  four 
sailors  in  question,  returned  without  offering  the  slight- 
est apology.  The  Chesapeake  was  then  released,  and 
Commodore  Barron,  disabled  and  humiliated,  put  back 
into  Hampton  Roads. 

The  news  of  this  transaction  excited  at  once  the 
deepest  sensation.  Indignation  meetings  were  called, 
and  resentful  resolutions  passed  in  every  town  and  city, 
from  Passamaquoddy  Bay  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico ;  and 
the  whole  Union  rose  as  one  man  to  demand  the  means 
of  redress  at  the  hands  of  the  Executive.  Nor  was  the 
administration  at  all  behind  the  spirit  of  the  nation, 
Jefferson  acted  with  becoming  promptitude,  and  turned 
the  whole  weight  of  his  influence  on  the  popular  side. 
A  proclamation  was  issued,  setting  forth  succinctly  and 
vividly  our  causes  of  aggrievance  at  the  hands  of  the 
British  Government,  and  peremptorily  ordering  all 
armed  vessels  bearing  commission  from  that  power, 
then  within  the  harbors  or  waters  of  the  United  States, 
to  depart  immediately  from  the  same ;  also  interdicting 
the  entrance  of  all  harbors  or  waters  to  all  vessels, 
of  every  description,  commissioned  by  the  offending 
power.  Warm  responses  came  in  from  every  quarter. 
Federalists  and  Democrats  waived  their  party  animosi- 
ties, and  rallied  around  the  administration.  The  Brit- 
ish Minister  resident  was  called  upon,  but  failing  to 
give  due  satisfaction,  dispatches  were  forthwith  sent 
across  the  waters,  and  an  explanation  demanded  at  the 
very  doors  of  the  royal  palace. 

But  while  this  was  yet  pending,  and  the  American 
mind  still  festering  and  rankling  under  the  atrocious 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  101 

outrage,  the  British  Government  rose  to  a  still  higher 
and  more  insolent  pitch  of  arrogance,  and  ordered  that 
even  merchant  vessels,  trading  peaceably  under  the 
guarantee  of  mutual  good  understanding,  should  be 
stopped  and  searched  for  British  subjects.  And,  as  if 
intending  to  push  matters  to  the  extremity,  and  so  far 
from  pausing  to  redress  grievances  already  alleged,  an 
order  in  council  was  adopted  yet  more  destructive  to 
American  commerce,  pretended  as  an  answer  to  the  re- 
cent decree  of  the  French  Emperor.  But  we  are  anti- 
cipating ;  and  in  order  to  proceed  intelligibly,  we  must 
retrace,  and,  crossing  the  Atlantic,  survey  the  condition 
of  Europe. 

The  successes  and  bold  schemes  of  Napoleon  were, 
at  this  tune,  the  source  of  absorbing  interest  to  the  civ- 
ilized world.  His  coronation  as  Emperor  had  been  fol- 
lowed immediately  by  the  great  battle  of  Austerlitz, 
which  had  prostrated  Austria  at  his  feet,  and  reduced 
the  Czar  of  Russia  to  so  humiliating  a  condition  as 
ended  in  the  total  disruption  of  his  confraternity  with 
the  Germanic  powers.  The  battle  of  Jena,  fought  in 
October  of  the  succeeding  year,  demolished  Prussia, 
and  placed  her  capital  in  the  conqueror's  hands.  Elated 
with  this  important  victory,  Napoleon  now  meditated 
the  most  gigantic  and  startling  ideas  ever  put  forth. 
The  whole  continent  of  Europe  was  now  under  his  in- 
fluence, and  the  world  beheld  the  singular  spectacle  of 
a  solitary  island  power,  with  a  population  of  scarce 
twenty  millions,  and  protected  by  the  ocean  alone, 
boldly  struggling  against  a  despotism  which  looked, 
and  seemed  likely  to  attain,  to  universal  dominion. 
The  orders  in  council,  adopted  in  the  month  of  May 
previous,  had  established  what  was  derisively  termed  a 
paper  blockade  along  the  entire  coast  of  France  and 
Germany,  from  Brest  to  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe.  As 


102  THOMAS    JEFFERSON. 

this  order  forbade  all  commerce  to  neutrals,  in  defiance 
of  international  law,  and  was  aimed  especially  against 
France,  Napoleon,  seated  in  the  royal  palace  of  Berlin, 
burning  with  resentment  against**  England,  and  filled 
with  the  idea  of  conquering  the  sea  by  the  land,  indited 
and  promulged  the  famous  decree  of  November  21st 
— the  first  of  that  series  of  measures  afterwards  known 
as  his  continental  system.  It  declared  the  British 
islands  in  a  state  of  blockade,  and  prohibited  all  com- 
merce and  intercourse  with  them.  But  it  is  worthy  of 
remark,  that  Gen.  Armstrong,  our  Minister  at  Paris, 
was  officially  notified  that  the  Berlin  decree  was  not  to 
be  enforced  against  American  commerce,  which  was 
still  to  be  governed  by  the  rules  of  the  treaty  estab- 
lished between  France  and  the  United  States.  This 
significant  exception  aroused  the  jealousy  of  England, 
and  her  ministry  were  impelled  into  a  policy  that 
closed  all  avenues  to  a  friendly  adjustment  of  the  diffi- 
culties already  existing  between  her  Government  and 
ours.  The  orders  in  council,  adopted  on  the  llth  of 
November,  1807,  as  retaliatory  of  the  Berlin  decree, 
contained  provisions  which  bore  intolerably  hard  on 
American  commerce.  Among  the  most  odious  of 
these  was  that  which  condemned  all  neutral  vessels 
which  had  not  first  paid  a  transit  duty  in  some  English 
port  before  proceeding  on  their  destinations ;  thus 
bringing  the  merchandise  of  neutrals  within  the  limits 
of  the  Berlin  decree,  as  also  of  that  of  Milan,  which 
soon  followed,  and  in  which  Napoleon  denationalized 
all  vessels  sailing  from  any  English  port,  or  which  had 
submitted  to  be  searched. 

From  a  calm  consideration  of  these  retaliatory 
documents,  thus  promulged  by  the  two  great  belliger- 
ent powers,  it  is  evident  that  had  any  American  vessels 
put  to  sea  after  December  of  1807,  or  during  the  winter 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  103 

and  spring  of  1808,  they  would  inevitably  have  been 
sacrificed — those  bound  to  France  or  her  dependencies, 
to  British,  and  those  bound  for  the  British  dominions, 
to  French  cruisers.  And  this  leads  us,  having  thus 
succinctly  premised,  to  the  consideration  of  the  great 
measure  of  Jefferson's  second  administration.  It  will 
be  understood,  of  course,  that  we  allude  to  the  Embar- 
go— a  restrictive  law  of  Congress,  recommended  by  the 
Executive,  withdrawing  the  whole  American  commerce 
from  the  ocean. 

Now  that  the  excitement  and  evil  passions  of  those 
eventful  times  have  died  away,  or  been  absorbed  in 
other  questions  more  intensely  interesting  and  mo- 
mentous, we  may  calmly  review  the  causes  and  the 
justification  of  this  much-abused  measure.  It  must  be 
remembered  that  the  last  war  with  England  dates  its 
origin  to  the  disputes  which  began  in  1804.  During 
this  year,  the  Jay  treaty  with  England,  effected  in 
1794,  under  the  administration  of  Washington,  and 
which  had  bred  serious  dissensions  at  the  time  of  its 
adoption,  between  the  friends  and  enemies  of  the  then 
Executive,  had  expired  by  its  own  limitation.  Jeffer- 
son had  been  one  of  its  earliest  and  most  inveterate 
opponents,  had  denounced  it  as  crouching,  submissive, 
incomplete ;  and  now,  in  the  day  of  his  power,  refused 
the  overtures  of  the  British  ministry  to  renew  it  for 
the  period  of  even  two  years.  In  consequence  of  this 
refusal,  and  in  view  of  the  serious  inconveniences  arising 
from  the  absence  of  any  international  compact,  Mr. 
Monroe  was  dispatched  to  England  as  an  adjunct  with 
Mr.  Pinckney  in  promoting  satisfactory  negotiations 
and  adjustment.  After  many  long  conferences  and 
tedious  correspondence,  these  commissioners  agreed 
on  a  treaty  which  contained  satisfactory  clauses  as  con- 
cerned the  rights  of  commerce,  and  of  free  trade,  and 


104  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

of  paper  blockades — all  prominent  grounds  of  discord- 
ance. But  in  regard  to  the  all-engrossing  subject  of 
impressment,  they  had  been  enabled  to  obtain  only  a 
sort  of  bond  or  certificate  from  the  British  ministers, 
unengrafted  on  the  treaty,  and  scarcely  dignified  even 
with  the  uncertain  name  of  protocol,  declaring  that, 
although  his  Britannic  Majesty  could  not  disclaim  or 
derogate  from  this  right,  yet  that  instructions  should 
be  given  to  all  British  commanders  to  be  cautious,  in 
its  exercise,  not  to  molest  or  injure  the  citizens  of  the 
United  States,  and  that  prompt  redress  should  always 
be  made  in  case  injury  was  sustained.  The  treaty, 
with  this  appendage  signed  by  the  British  negotiators, 
was  concluded  in  December,  1806.  It  was  sent  over 
immediately  to  Mr.  Erskine,  the  English  minister  resi- 
dent in  the  United  States,  and  by  him  submitted  to 
Jefferson  and  his  Cabinet.  The  omission  of  a  special 
treaty  stipulation  concerning  impressment  was  deemed 
a  fatal  error ;  and  taking  the  ground  that  any  succeed- 
ing minister  might,  at  pleasure,  withdraw  the  paper 
accompanying  the  treaty,  Jefferson,  on  his  own  respon- 
sibility, and  independent  of  any  action  on  the  part  of 
the  Senate,  then  in  session,  sent  it  back  as  rejected. 
We  must  believe  that  Jefferson's  interpretation  of  this 
paper  (a  stranger,  any  way,  to  the  diplomatic  world) 
was  correct ;  but  at  the  same  time  we  incline  to  the 
opinion  that,  in  view  of  the  magnitude  of  the  subjects 
in  issue,  and  of  the  momentous  results  involved,  it  was 
his  duty  to  have  sought  the  advice  of  the  Senate,  two- 
thirds  of  which  body,  and  the  President,  constitute, 
under  our  government,  the  only  treaty-making  power. 
The  questions  at  issue,  thus  adjourned  and  unad- 
justed, added  to  the  fact  that  no  treaty  existed  be- 
tween the  two  countries,  led  to  many  other  disputa- 
tious differences.  The  treaty  had  scarcely  been  returned 


THOMAS    JEFPEESON.  105 

to  the  negotiators  in  London,  thus  black-marked  by  the 
American  Executive,  before  the  offensive  proclamation 
of  the  British  monarch,  already  alluded  to,  was  widely 
promulged.  The  affair  of  the  Leopard  and  the  Chesa- 
peake soon  followed,  and  then  came  the  Orders  in 
Council,  and  the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees,  all  widen- 
ing the  breach  betwixt  our  own  and  the  British  Gov- 
ernment, and  throwing  us  in  a  state  of  quasi  hostility 
with  France.  Under  these  circumstances  only  two 
courses  were  left  for  the  American  Government  to 
adopt,  viz.,  war  with  both  the  great  belligerent  powers, 
or  an  embargo.  The  first  of  these,  in  our  then  en- 
feebled state,  would  have  been  a  mad  as  well  as  a  most 
ridiculous  course.  Besides,  no  adequate  cause  for  war 
existed  against  France,  who  had  actually  gone  far  to 
show  herself  our  friend.  The  history  of  the  times 
proves,  that  however  severe  the  Berlin  and  Milan 
decrees  may  have  been  in  their  effects  on  American 
commerce,  they  were  yet  allowable  precautionary  and 
retaliatory  measures,  the  consequents  of  England's 
atrocious  and  unparalleled  conduct.  With  regard  to 
us,  England  was  the  only  aggressive  power;  and  it 
was  not  until  our  interests  clashed  directly  with  the 
provisions  of  the  imperial  decrees  as  they  bore  against 
England,  that  France  gave  us  the  least  cause  of  com- 
plaint or  offence.  Then,  indeed,  in  the  plenitude  of 
his  power,  Napoleon  committed  outrages  on  America 
which  left  us  no  alternative  but  unfriendliness.  But 
to  have  submitted,  as  Jefferson  himself  justly  argued, 
to'pay  England  the  tribute  on  our  commerce  demand- 
ed by  her  orders  in  council,  would  have  been  to  aid 
her  in  the  war  against  France,  and  given  Napoleon 
just  ground  for  declaring  war  against  the  United 
States.  The  state  of  this  country,  thus  situated  as  to 
the  two  belligerent  powers,  was  therefore  exceedingly 
5* 


106  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

embarrassing.  It  required  the  skill  of  an  unshrinking, 
but  a  discerning  and  discriminating  pilot,  to  steer  clear 
of  overwhelming  difficulties.  That  pilot  was  eminently 
fulfilled  in  the  person  of  Thomas  Jefferson ;  who,  with 
a  sagacity  that  rarely  failed  him,  adopted  promptly  the 
only  remaining  alternative  of  an  embargo. 

On  the  18th  of  December,  1807,  accordingly,  Jeffer- 
son communicated  the  Berlin  decree,  the  correspond- 
ence betwixt  Gen.  Armstrong  and  Champagny,  the 
French  Minister,  and  the  proclamation  of  George  the 
Third,  to  the  two  Houses  of  Congress,  together  with 
a  message,  as  before  intimated,  recommending  such 
measures  as  he  deemed  necessary  for  the  protection  of 
American  commerce.  The  Embargo  Act  was  imme- 
diately introduced,  carried  through  both  Houses  by 
large  and  significant  majorities,  and  took  effect  on  the 
23d  of  the  same  month.  It  had  scarcely  become  a  law, 
before  it  encountered  the  most  factious,  violent,  and 
well-directed  opposition  ever  before  exhibited.  The 
whole  Federal  press,  from  New  Hampshire  to  Georgia, 
raised  its  hand  to  beat  it  down,  and  thundered  forth 
volleys  of  abuse  and  vituperation.  It  was  denounced 
as  oppressive,  tyrannical,  and  wicked ;  as  having  been 
dictated  by  Napoleon ;  as  a  sacrifice  of  the  dearest  in- 
terests of  the  nation,  and  as  unconstitutional.  The 
clamor  which  had  assaulted  the  Alien  and  Sedition 
Laws  of  1798  was  nothing  to  that  which  now  poured 
its  indignant  torrents  on  Congress  and  the  Executive. 
The  entire  cordon  of  Eastern  States  were  kindled  into 
the  most  appalling  and  intense  excitement.  The  col- 
umns and  segments  of  my  stic  flamewhich  irradiated 
their  northern  horizon,  seemed  to  glow  with  increased 
lustre,  as  if  doubly  reflected  from  the  fires  which  burned 
and  roared  beneath.  The  most  monstrous  and  improb- 
able cause  was  assigned  as  the  justification  of  this  fe- 


THOMAS  JEFFEKSON.  107 

rocious  and  ruthless  opposition.  The  embargo  was 
reprobated  as  a  measure  intended  to  combine  the 
South  and  West  for  the  ruin  of  the  East.  The  more 
that  unprincipled  demagogues  and  silly  enthusiasts 
repeated  the  declaration,  the  more  fervently  it  was 
believed  by  honest  people,  too  mad  or  too  ignorant  to 
be  pacified  with  reason  or  truth.  Ships  were  angrily 
pointed  to,  rotting  at  the  wharves  of  Boston  and  of 
Newport.  Idle,  drunken  sailors,  in  reeling  hordes, 
clamored  for  employment,  swearing  that  they  could 
exist  only  on  the  seas,  and  that  they  were  unfit  for 
aught  else  but  reefing  sails  or  manning  halyards. 
Wharfingers  and  shipbuilders  united  in  a  common 
chorus  of  discontent.  Merchants,  from  behind  their 
groaning  counters,  sent  forth  grumbling  calls  for  re- 
lief; and  seemed  willing  to  sell  themselves,  their  piles 
of  goods,  and  their  country,  to  the  common  enemy, 
could  they  only  obtain  release  from  the  embargo,  and 
fill  the  hostile  seas  with  their  commerce.  At  length, 
dark  hints  of  meditated  treason  were  whispered  about, 
and  stunned  the  ears  of  Jefferson  and  his  Cabinet. 
The  crime  which  had  just  been  charged  against  Aaron 
Burr,  and  on  the  mere  suspicion  of  which  he  had  been 
placed  by  an  angry  Government  on  a  trial  for  his  life, 
was  now  openly  advocated,  and  the  opposition  prints 
teemed  with  threats  of  dissolving  the  Union.  Then  it 
was  that  Jefferson's  own  bad  teachings  and  mischievous 
principles  were  hurled  mercilessly  at  his  own  govern- 
ment. The  pernicious  ultraisras  of  the  Kentucky  and 
Virginia  Resolutions  of  '98  rose  scowlingly  and  warn- 
ingly  to  his  vision,  and  would  not  ."down"  at  any 
"bidding."  He  had  condemned  and  ridiculed  the 
means  used  by  Washington  to  suppress  the  Whiskey 
Insurrection  in  '94 ;  and  it  seemed  now  as  though  the 
"  poisoned  chalice  "  had  been  "  commended  to  his  own 


108  I*HOMAS   JEFFEESOK. 

lips/'  He  had  defended  and  justified  the  Shay  Rebel- 
lion of  '87,  declaring  that  "  no  country  could  preserve 
its  liberties  unless  its  rulers  were  warned  from  time  to 
tune  that  the  people  preserved  the  power  of  resistance, 
and  washed  the  tree  of  liberty  in  the  blood  of  patriots 
and  tyrants."  That  resistance  was  now  every  where 
and  undisguisedly  preached ;  the  people  were  invited 
to  join  in  a  crusade  against  the  rulers,  and,  in  case  of  a 
rupture,  it  seemed  not  unlikely  that  the  blood  of  the 
first  apostle  of  Nullification  and  Secession  would  be 
first  offered  as  a  propitiatory  sacrifice  on  the  altars  of 
dissolution.  So  sure  it  is,  that  the  evil  counsels  of  sel- 
fish and  unrestrained  ambition  will  recoil,  in  an  unex- 
pected hour,  and  cover  their  propagator  with  confusion 
and  dismay ! 

But  notwithstanding  this  factious  clamor  and  insane 
opposition,  a  calm  consideration  of  the  circumstances 
and  situation  of  the  country,  at  the  period  in  question, 
will  lead  us  to  the  conclusion  that  the  embargo  was  a 
wise,  salutary,  and  prudent  measure.  It  was  the  only 
available  or  practicable  remedy  against  the  withering 
policy  of  England  and  France,  then  engaged  in  a  war 
of  extinction.  But  at  the  same  time  it  is  not  to  be  de- 
nied that,  as  a  measure  of  coercion  to  obtain  redress 
from  foreign  powers,  and  to  be  continued  until  such 
redress  was  obtained,  it  certainly  was  a  most  severe, 
and,  we  may  add,  bold  experiment  on  the  interests  as 
well  as  on  the  patience  of  an  active  and  enterprising 
people.  If,  however,  the  embargo  had  not  been  adopt- 
ed ;  if  American  vessels  had  been  suffered,  as  of  yore, 
to  put  forth  on  the  high  seas,  it  as  certainly  is  not  to 
be  denied  but  what  they  would  have  been  universally 
seized  and  confiscated.  This  would  have  produced  un- 
precedented bankruptcy.  Insurance  offices  and  mer- 
cantile houses  would  have  been  speedily  ingulfed  in 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  109 

hopeless  ruin  ;  and  scenes  of  calamity  and  distress,  only 
equalled  by  the  explosion  of  Law's  famous  Mississippi 
bubble  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
would  have  pervaded  this  Union  from  one  extreme  to 
the  other.  The  plunder  of  our  ships  and  the  captivity 
of  our  seamen  would  have  operated  to  augment  the  re- 
sources of  the  belligerents  and  enfeeble  ourselves.  We 
should  thus  have  suffered  all  the  worst  consequences  of 
war,  without  the  chance  of  obtaining  any  of  its  com- 
pensatory advantages.  Under  these  circumstances,  it 
was  evidently  more  politic  that  our  vessels  should  re- 
main at  our  wharves,  the  property  of  our  merchants, 
than  that  they  should  be  carried  to  England  or  France, 
the  prey  of  pirates  and  of  privateers.  Besides  this,  by 
unfettering  American  commerce  at  such  a  time,  with 
the  risk  of  having  our  ships  seized  and  ruthlessly  se- 
questered, we  would  have  been  pursuing  a  course  emi- 
nently calculated  to  multiply  the  difficulties  already 
existing  as  barriers  to  a  good  understanding  and  ami- 
cable relations  with  the  hostile  powers  over  the  water. 
We  should  again,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Chesapeake  with 
England,  and  of  the  Horizon  with  France,  have  been 
reduced  to  the  mortification  of  negotiating  for  repara- 
tion in  vain.  We  should  have  been  ultimately  goaded 
into  a  fierce  war,  after  having  been  defeated  in  our  en- 
deavors to  escape  it,  and  deprived  of  the  most  efficient 
means  for  its  prosecution. 

The  charge  of  French  influence  in  connection  with 
the  embargo  was  confidently  attributed  to  Jefferson  at 
the  tune,  and  Federal  writers  continue  to  urge  it  to 
this  day.  But  the  charge  has  never  been  adequately 
proven,  and  cannot,  we  think,  be  at  all  sustained.  That 
Jefferson  cordially  despised  England  and  its  Govern- 
ment we  do  not  doubt ;  nor  does  he  any  where  attempt 
to  conceal  his  dislike.  Nor  do  we  doubt  but  that  his 


110  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

sympathies  were  in  favor  of  France,  from  the  beginning 
of  the  struggle  in  1792  to  its  melancholy  close  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  in  1815.  He  retained,  to  his  dying 
hour,  lively  and  cherished  recollections  of  his  residence 
in  that  country.  He  had  known  and  been  intimately 
associated  with  all  her  leading  statesmen  and  warriors. 
He  had  formed  social  attachments  in  the  hospitable 
circles  of  Paris  that  outlived  absence  and  survived  sepa- 
ration. He  had  been  domesticated  in  France  during 
the  opening  scenes  of  her  eventful  strife  with  England, 
and  while  yet  the  memory  of  British  outrages  during 
the  struggle  for  American  independence  was  fresh  and 
green.  He  had,  therefore,  imbibed  the  double  hatred 
of  American  and  of  Frenchman  against  British  arro- 
gance and  British  pretensions.  These  feelings  were 
rife  within  his  bosom  when  he  came  home  from  his 
mission,  and  had  been  fanned  and  sedulously  nurtured 
throughout  the  whole  eight  years  of  Washington's  ad- 
ministration. They  were  not  smothered  in  his  subse- 
quent fierce  Conflicts  with  the  Federal  party,  and  his 
arduous  competition  for  the  Presidency  with  the  elder 
Adams.  And  now  that  he  was  at  last  on  that  eminence 
which  crowned  his  towering  ambition,  and  had  been 
long  the  goal  of  his  ardent  aspirations,  it  was  not  likely 
that,  as  regarded  the  interesting  attitudes  which  marked 
the  two  great  hostile  powers  of  Europe  during  his  ad- 
ministrative career,  he  should  forget  his  early  preju- 
dices against  England,  or  his  strong  prepossessions  in 
favor  of  France.  But  we  have  been  unable  to  satisfy 
our  minds  that  he  was  actuated  by  undue  influences  in 
the  adoption  of  his  foreign  policy.  The  history  of  his 
whole  official  conduct  in  connection  with  the  Embargo, 
the  Non-intercourse  Act,  and  his  diplomatic  dealings 
with  the  belligerents,  shows  that  he  acted  as  became 
an  American  President,  and  lifts  him  triumphantly 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.     '  111 

above  all  unworthy  imputations.  Throwing  aside  all 
other  considerations,  Jefferson  was  not  a  man  to  bear 
being  dictated  to,  even  by  Napoleon.  He  felt  the  in- 
fluence and  power  of  his  high  official  station,  and  showed 
that  he  felt  them.  It  was  rather  his  weakness  to  be- 
lieve that  he  could  coerce  and  dictate  to  France,  know- 
ing, as  he  did,  the  deep  anxiety  of  Napoleon  to  enlist 
the  United  States  as  his  ally  against  England.  And, 
indeed,  the  French  Emperor,  even  while  committing 
outrages  on  American  vessels,  pleaded  necessity  as  his 
apology ;  and  while  throwing  the  whole  blame  on  the 
British  ministry,  plied  the  American  Executive  with 
artful  and  flattering  laudations.  With  this  view,  Na- 
poleon, unconsciously  playing  into  the  hands  of  Jeffer- 
son's Federal  opponents  at  home,  affected  to  consider 
the  embargo  as  a  friendly  interposition  on  behalf  of  the 
American  Government  to  aid  his  continental  system — 
a  system  professedly  devised  to  humble  and  weaken 
English  ocean  dominion.  In  the  saloons  and  reception 
rooms  of  the  Tuileries  he  made  a  show  of  boasting  of 
the  United  States  as  his  ally,  and  constantly  and  pub- 
licly assured  Gen.  Armstrong,  our  Minister,  of  his  great 
respect  and  friendship  for  the  American  people  and 
their  Government.  "  The  Americans,"  said  the  French 
Minister,  speaking  for  the  Emperor,  "  a  people  who  in- 
volve their  fortunes,  their  prosperity,  and  almost  their 
existence,  in  commerce,  have  given  the  example  of  a 
great  and  courageous  sacrifice.  They  have  prohibited, 
by  a  general  embargo,  all  commerce  and  navigation, 
rather  than  submit  to  that  tribute  which  the  English 
impose.  The  Emperor  applauds  the  embargo  as  a  wise 
measure."  (Pitkin's  Statistics,  p.  385). 

This  speech  was,  of  course,  directly  communicated 
to  the  President  of  the  United  States,  and  speedily 
finding  its  way  into  the  newspapers,  was  seized  upon 


112  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

and  turned  against  Jefferson  and  the  embargo,  as  prima 
facie  evidence  of  a  collusion  with  the  French  Emperor. 
There  is  every  cause  to  believe,  as  well  from  his  own 
letter  in  answer  to  the  one  communicating  the  above, 
as  from  other  circumstances,  that  this  commendation  of 
Napoleon  was  exceedingly  grateful  and  pleasant  to  Jef- 
ferson ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in  his  public 
communications  relative  to  our  foreign  affairs,  he  sought 
to  inculpate  England  far  more  than  France.  He  re- 
garded England  as  the  first  and  principal  aggressor  on 
the  rights  of  America,  while  France  was  reluctantly  in- 
volved, and  forced  to  retaliate  that  she  might  preserve 
her  own  integrity  against  the  insidious  and  ruthless 
policy  of  the  British  ministry.  The  object  of  the  Presi- 
dent was,  then,  especially  in  view  of  his  unquestioned 
predilections,  to  turn  popular  indignation  mainly  against 
the  first  power,  and  leave  the  conduct  of  the  trench 
Government  palliated  by  the  unanswerable  plea  of  stern 
necessity.  It  must,  therefore,  have  been  deeply  morti- 
fying to  Jefferson,  when  dispatches  reached  him  of  Na- 
poleon's sudden  change  of  mind  in  regard  to  the  opera- 
tion of  the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees ;  declaring  that 
America  should  be  no  longer  exempted,  that  she  should 
be  forced  to  become  either  his  ally  or  his  enemy ;  that 
there  should  be  no  neutrals  in  the  contest  betwixt  him- 
self and  the  British ;  and  that  all  vessels  belonging  to 
American  merchants  then  lying  in  the  ports  of  France 
should  be  condemned  and  confiscated.  It  is  said  that 
this  news  reached  Jefferson  in  an  authenticated  form, 
anterior  to  the  delivery  of  his  embargo  message ;  and 
his  enemies  charge  him  with  having  wilfully  kept  back 
this  important  paper  (a  letter  from  Gen.  Armstrong) 
solely  with  a  view  to  relieve  France  from  the  storm  of 
anger  and  indignation  which  was  gathering  against 
England.  Jefferson  has  not  explained  this,  and  his 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON.  113 

friends  have  been  silent  also.  If  he  had  received  such 
news,  it  was,  undoubtedly,  his  duty  to  have  communi- 
cated the  same  to  Congress  along  with  the  offensive 
orders  in  council  and  the  Berlin  decree.  It  may  have 
been,  and  most  probably  was  his  motive,  to  give  Na- 
poleon time  to  get  over  his  passion  and  retrace  his  steps 
•before  throwing  himself  irrevocably  in  opposition  to  his 
former  conciliatory  policy.  It  was  well  known  that, 
when  Bonaparte  heard  of  the  last  order  in  council,  and 
while  preparing  to  fulminate  his  Milan  decree  in  retali- 
ation, he  had  openly  said,  "  that  he  could  not  doubt 
but  that  the  United  States  would  now  immediately  de- 
clare war  against  England,  and  become  his  associate." 
On  learning  that  war  had  not  been  declared,  Napoleon 
became  exasperated ;  and  although,  for  the  reason  that 
he  might  better  justify  his  outrages,  he  afterwards  pro- 
fessed to  be  pleased  with  the  embargo,  he  resolved  from 
that  day  to  adopt  a  policy  that  might,  it  was  hoped, 
coerce  the  Americans  to  become  his  allies.  It  will  be 
thus  perceived  that  Napoleon  shifted  his  policy  three 
times,  and  in  very  short  intervals.  Jefferson  may  very 
naturally  have  been  embarrassed ;  but  on  learning  that 
Napoleon  had  ordered  the  confiscation  of  American 
vessels,  he  forthwith  communicated  the  letter  of  Gen. 
Armstrong  to  Congress,  leaving  them  to  take  the 
proper  retaliatory  course.  The  Embargo  Act  was  well 
intended,  and  ought  to  have  been  made  a  powerful 
weapon  in  procuring  redress  from  England.  We  give 
Jefferson  all  due  credit  for  recommending  it  in  lieu  of 
war,  which  was  not  then  practicable.  But  he  was 
highly  culpable  on  account  of  his  imbecility  and  vacilla- 
tion in  enforcing  it,  even  after  having  been  invested 
with  the  fullest  powers  by  Congress.  Properly  carried 
out,  the  embargo  would  have  greatly  incommoded  the 
English  colonies  in  obtaining  the  necessaries  of  life,  and 


114  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

would  have  injured  her  trade  and  naval  power  by  with- 
holding supplies  of  raw  material  and  stores.  But  it 
was  most  flagitiously  violated.  The  greatest  license 
was  given  to  smugglers  and  contraband  dealers,  and 
these  made  rapid  and  unhallowed  fortunes  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  honest  and  law-abiding  citizens.  Its  dele- 
terious effects  were  thus  most  severely  felt  at  home, 
and  were  impotent  to  conduce  and  force  the  beneficial 
consequences  from  abroad  so  confidently  predicted.  It 
failed  in  a  great  measure  to  answer  its  main  objects, 
and  failed  as  much  in  consequence  of  Jefferson's  imbe- 
cility and  lethargy,  as  of  the  factious,  disorganizing,  and 
Jacobinical  clamors  which  pealed  in  from  the  Eastern 
States.  An  impartial  judgment  must  pronounce,  there- 
fore, unfavorably  as  concerns  the  conduct  of  the  Presi- 
dent in  this  instance.  That  conduct  would  justify  a 
very  harsh  sentence  at  the  hands  of  an  independent 
disquisitor;  and  that  sentence  would  be,  that  while 
Jefferson  was  bold  to  originate,  intolerant  and  obstinate 
in  the  exercise  of  power  when  conscious  of  being  sus- 
tained, he  was  yet  faint-hearted  and  time-serving  when 
assaulted  by  popular  clamor  and  denunciation.  It  will 
be  readily  conjectured  that  the  embargo  could  not 
stand  long  under  such  circumstances.  It  was  accord- 
ingly repealed  on  the  first  of  March,  1809.  It  was 
stamped  in  the  dust  by  Federal  rancor,  and  consigned 
by  its  enemies  to  unmerited  infamy.  And  although  its 
action  was  countervailed  by  the  imbecility  of  its  friends 
and  the  opposition  of  its  enemies,  its  failure  is  attributed 
alone  to  its  intrinsic  insufficiency  and  to  its  so-called 
iniquitous  conception.  It  is  even  now  pointed  to  as 
one  of  the  errors  and  weaknesses  of  Jefferson's  vicious 
administration.  And  yet  it  was  sanctioned  by  illustri- 
ous precedent — another  proof  that  its  failure  in  1807 
was  attributable  to  the  bad  conduct  of  its  enemies  and 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  115 

to  the  bad  management  of  its  friends.  It  had  been  au- 
thorized to  a  much  fuller  extent  in  1794,  and  was  sanc- 
tioned as  a  wise  measure  equally  by  Federalists  and 
Democrats.  Washington  had,  in  fact,  been  empowered 
to  lay  an  embargo  whenever  Tie  should  think  the  public 
safety  required  it,  and  to  take  what  course  he  pleased 
to  enforce  it.  (Vide  Olive  Branch,  pp.  138,  139,  140.) 
This  discretionary  power  was  conferred,  and  this  dicta- 
torial privilege  given,  at  a  time  much  less  portentous 
and  critical  than  in  1807.  And  it  answered  its  full  pur- 
pose ;  because,  thus  empowered,  it  was  known  that 
Washington  was  a  man  who  would  act  if  occasion 
should  require.  He  had  shown  this  in  his  whole  public 
conduct,  and  quite  recently  and  effectively  in  forcibly 
suppressing  the  Whiskey  Insurrection.  The  embargo 
ceased,  or  was  raised,  on  the  first  of  March.  It  was 
succeeded  by  an  act  declaring  non-intercourse  with  both 
the  hostile  powers.  England  felt  it  severely ;  and  un- 
der less  exciting  circumstances,  or  in  the  absence  of 
other  causes  of  difference  than  mere  commercial  dis- 
cordances, it  would  doubtless  have  led  to  an  amicable 
adjustment.  As  it  was,  the  Erskine  arrangement  came 
very  near  succeeding.  But  Napoleon  was  exasperated 
on  hearing  of  its  passage  beyond  all  reasonable  bounds, 
and  vented  his  fury  in  offensive  reproaches  and  incohe- 
rent taunts  to  the  American  Minister  resident.  At  this 
time,  however,  ceased  also  Jefferson's  official  connection 
with  the  Government.  He  retired  from  the  Presidency 
on  the  fourth  day  of  March,  1809,  and  was  succeeded 
by  Mr.  Madison.  It  is  not,  therefore,  legitimately 
within  the  objects  of  this  review  to  pursue  further  a 
history  of  governmental  affairs.  We  pause  on  the  verge 
of  the  war,  and  must  leave  the  interested  reader  to 
search  the  pages  of  his  histories  for  further  satisfaction, 
hoping  that  we  have  succeeded  in  pointing  out  to  him 


116  THOMAS   JEFFEKSON. 

a  proper  clue  to  the  elicitation  of  hitherto  neglected 
branches. 

After  retiring  from  the  Presidency,  Monticello  be- 
came the  permanent  residence  of  Jefferson.  He  never 
afterwards  appeared  on  the  stage  of  political  action. 
His  time  was  quietly  spent  in  superintending  the  busi- 
ness of  his  farms,  in  the  pursuit  of  literature  and  science, 
and  in  familiar  correspondence  with  his  numerous 
friends.  The  Virginia  University,  however,  soon  be- 
came a  pampered  hobby,  and  enlisted  his  ardent  interest 
and  sympathy.  He  lived  to  see  it  flourish  under  his 
fostering  care,  and  it  yet  continues  to  flourish,  a  noble 
monument  of  his  public  spirit  and  laudable  enterprise 
of  character. 

One  other  subject  now  began  to  engage  his  reflec- 
t  tions  seriously  and  deeply.  It  was  that  of  religion — 
the  Christian  religion.  He  never  thought  it  worth 
while  seriously  to  investigate  the  claims  or  merits  of 
any  other.  Compared  with  the  religion  of  Christ,  that 
of  the  Jews  or  of  Mahomet  was,  in  his  estimation,  mere 
superstition  or  gross  imposture.  At  the  same  time,  it 
is  quite  apparent  that  he  had  studied  closely  both  the 
ancient  and  modern  systems,  with  &  view  to  compare 
them  with  the  religion  of  Jesus.  For  many  long  years, 
in  the  midst  of  political  bustle  as  well  as  in  the  quiet  of 
retirement,  did  Jefferson  devote  his  thoughts  to  serious 
meditations  and  minute  inquiries  on  this  important 
subject.  The  fourth  volume  of  his  correspondence 
abounds  with  letters  on  Christianity,  and  unfolds  be- 
yond any  question  the  religious  opinions  of  its  distin- 
guished author.  "We  hesitate  not  to  say  that  his  inqui- 
ries ended  with  a  firm  and  total  disbelief  in  the  divine 
inspiration  of  the  Bible.  He  argued  an  entire  dissimi- 
larity between  the  God  of  the  Old  Testament  and  the 
Supreme  Being  taught  by  Jesus ;  viewing  the  first  as 


THOMAS  JEFFEKSON.  117 

• 

an  angry,  a  bloodthirsty,  and  vindictive  being — the  last 
as  merciful,  forbearing,  just,  and  paternally  inclined. 
He  denounces  the  doctrines  of  Moses,  but  extols  those 
of  Jesus.  He  looked  on  Jesus  as  a  man  only — the 
most  excellent  and  pure  that  ever  lived,  but  still  no 
part  or  essence  of  Divinity.  The  doctrine  of  the  Trinity 
was  to  him  an  incomprehensible  and  inexplicable  mysti- 
cism— too  refined,  too  inconsistent  with  the  weakness 
of  human  understanding,  and  too  subtle  to  have  been 
inculcated  by  so  plain  and  unsophisticated  a  teacher  as 
Jesus  Christ.  He  admits  that  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  Jesus  thought  himself  the  subject  of  divine  inspira- 
tion, because  it  was  a  belief  incident  to  his  education, 
and  common  among  the  Jews,  that  men  were  often  in- 
spired by  God.  But  he  denies  that  Jesus  any  where 
attempts  to  impose  himself  on  mankind  as  the  Son  of 
God.  The  four  Gospels  were  regarded  by  him  as  in- 
accurate and  exaggerated  biographies  of  some  lofty- 
minded  and  splendid  character,  whose  conceptions 
were  too  towering  for  the  "  feeble  minds"  of  his  "  grov- 
elling" companions.  (See  p.  326,  vol.  IV.)  "We 
find,"  he  says  in  the  letter  referred  to,  "  in  the  writings 
of  his  biographers,  matter  of  two  distinct  descriptions. 
First,  a  ground-work  of  vulgar  ignorance,  of  things  im- 
possible, of  superstitions,  fanaticisms,  and  fabrications. 
Intermixed  with  these,  again,  are  sublime  ideas  of  the 
Supreme  Being,  aphorisms  and  precepts  of  the  purest 
morality  and  benevolence,  sanctioned  by  a  life  of  hu- 
mility, innocence,  and  simplicity  of  manners,  neglect  of 
riches,  absence  of  worldly  ambition  and  honors,  with  an 
eloquence  and  persuasiveness  that  have  not  been  sur- 
passed .  .  .  Can  we  be  at  a  loss  in  separating  such  ma- 
terials, and  ascribing  each  to  its  genuine  author  ?  "  In 
a  letter  to  John  Adams  on  the  same  subject,  found  on 
page  240,  volume  fourth,  our  author  says  again :  "  The 


118  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

Christian  priesthood,  finding  the  doctrines  of  Jesus  lev- 
elled to  every  understanding,  and  too  plain  to  need  ex- 
planation, saw  in  the  mysticisms  of  Plato  materials 
with  which  they  might  build  up  an  artificial  system, 
which  might,  from  its  indistinctness,  admit  of  everlast- 
ing controversy,  give  employment  to  their  order,  and 
introduce  it  to  profit,  power,  and  pre-eminence.  The 
doctrines  which  flowed  from  the  lips  of  Jesus  himself 
are  within  the  comprehension  of  a  child  ;  but  thousands 
of  volumes  have  not  yet  explained  the  Platonisms  en- 
grafted on  them :  and  for  this  obvious  reason,  that  non- 
sense can  never  be  explained." 

And  again,  the  letter  to  Dr.  Rush,  found  in  volume 
third,  on  page  506,  holds  this  language:  "I  am,  in- 
deed, opposed  to  the  corruptions  of  Christianity,  but 
not  to  the  genuine  precepts  of  Jesus  himself.  I  am  a 
Christian  in  the  only  sense  in  which  he  wished  any  one 
to  be ;  sincerely  attached  to  his  doctrines  in  preference 
to  all  others ;  ascribing  to  himself  every  human  excel- 
lence, and  believing  he  never  claimed  any  other."  The 
last  extract  we  shall  quote  is  found  on  page  349,  vol. 
fourth,  in  a  letter  to  Dr.  Waterhouse :  "  Had  the  doc- 
trines of  Jesus  been  preached  always  as  pure  as  they 
came  from  his  lips,  the  whole  civilized  world  would 
now  have  been  Christian.  I  rejoice  that  in  this  blessed 
country  of  free  inquiry  and  belief,  which  has  surren- 
dered its  creed  and  its  conscience  to  neither  kings  nor 
priests,  the  genuine  doctrine  of  one  only  God  is  re- 
viving ;  and  I  trust  that  there  is  not  a  young  man  now 
living  in  the  United  States  who  will  not  die  an  Uni- 
tarian. But  much  I  fear,  that  when  this  great  truth 
shall  be  re-established,  its  votaries  will  fall  into  the 
fatal  error  of  fabricating  formulas  of  creed  and  confes- 
sions of  faith,  the  engines  which  so  soon  destroyed  the 
religion  of  Jesus,  and  made  of  Christendom  a  mere 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  119 

Aceldama ;  and  they  will  give  up  morals  for  mysteries, 
and  Jesus  for  Plato." 

These  extracts  fully  confirm  the  analysis  of  Jeffer- 
son's religious  views  we  have  given  on  a  preceding 
page,  and  leave  no  doubt  of  their  character  or  extent. 
He  admired  the  morality  of  Christ's  teachings,  but 
denied  the  divinity  both  of  system  and  of  teacher. 
The  apostles  and  their  writings  met  with  no  favor  from 
Jefferson.  He  speaks  of  them  more  than  once  "  as  a 
band  of  impostors,  of  whom  Paul  was  the  great  Cory- 
phaeus ;"  and  we  have  abundant  evidence  to  show  that 
he  doubted  not  only  the  genuineness  of  the  Pentateuch 
and  of  the  prophecies,  but  of  the  whole  writings  of  the 
Old  Testament.  Still  we  cannot  consent  that  Jefferson 
shall  be  ranked  as  an  infidel,  as  most  of  the  orthodox 
world  demand.  He  protests  himself  against  such  a 
sentence,  and  we  have  been  unable  to  detect  such  ten- 
dency in  his  writings.  He  admired  and  adopted  Chris- 
tianity as  an  inimitable  and  unsurpassed  system  of  mo- 
rality, and  inculcates  and  defends  its  principles.  But 
he  examined  its  merits  and  viewed  its  transcendent 
teachings  through  the  medium  of  reason  and  plain 
common  sense.  Where  these  stopped,  and  where  the 
foggy  empire  of  faith  began,  there  he  abruptly  halted. 
His  mind  was  so  constituted  as  neither  to  be  terrified 
by  dogmas,  nor  seduced  by  imaginary  beauties,  and 
illusive,  speculative  mental  vagaries.  He  regarded  the 
tenets  of  Calvin  with  ineffable  and  undisguised  abhor- 
rence. The  doctrine  of  one  God,  indivisible  and  indis- 
soluble, made  into  three  parts,  and  these  three  parts 
yet  one  only, — a  Unity  made  Trinity  at  pleasure,  or  to 
suit  particular  cases ;  the  doctrine  of  moral  necessity, 
—the  necessity  of  the  eternal  perdition  of  one  part  for 
the  salvation  of  another  part  of  mankind,  and  for  the 
perfect  glory  of  God ;  and  the  doctrines  of  the  immacu- 


120  THOMAS  JEFFERSON. 

late  conception  of  the  Virgin,  and  of  the  mystical  in- 
carnation of  Jesus  Christ,  he  had  taught  himself  to  re- 
gard as  mere  fanciful  theories  of  a  selfish  priesthood, 
designed  only  to  establish  and  support  an  independent 
"  order "  of  clergy.  A  theory  that  announced  as  its 
basis  incomprehensibility  and  infinitude,  yet  attempt- 
ing to  explain  and  elucidate  acknowledged  mysteries ; 
which  claimed  reason  in  defence,  and  denounced  it  as 
unlawful  in  antagonists ;  which  shuts  out  free  inquiry, 
and  seeks  shelter  from  human  efforts  within  the  un- 
trodden precincts  of  an  inexplicable  and  undefinable 
faith;  which  proscribes  doubt,  interdicts  examina- 
tion, denounces  as  blasphemous  the  exercise  of  judg- 
ment, and  intrenches  itself  in  dogmatism  and  preju- 
dice ;  which  claims  to  be  infallible,  yet  teaches  the 
consistency  of  sectarianism, — such  a  theory  and  such 
religion  were  totally  rejected  by  one  accustomed  to 
such  bold  latitude  of  thought  and  severe  mental  disci- 
pline as  Thomas  Jefferson.  It  is  no  part  of  our  task, 
nor  is  it  our  inclination,  to  examine  the  correctness  or 
the  fallacy  of  these  views.  But  when  reviewing  so  im- 
portant a  subject,  and  the  character  of  so  distinguished 
a  personage,  we  feel  bound,  in  candor,  to  give  both  the 
subject  and  the  character  the  full  advantage  of  undis- 
guised array.  Such  were  the  private  and  well  "di- 
gested "  religious  opinions  of  Jefferson,  and  by  such, 
fairly  set  forth,  he  must  be  judged.  It  would  be  un- 
fair to  expose  him  to  censure,  while  smothering  the 
grounds  of  his  belief  or  disbelief.  And  if,  in  the  perusal 
of  these  pages,  any  reader  shall  feel  aggrieved  on  any 
point  of  conscience  by  this  expos&  of  our  author's  doubts 
and  skepticisms,  let  him,  while  preparing  to  grasp  the 
vengeful  dart,  pause  and  reflect,  that  many  as  good 
and  great,  if  not  better  and  greater  than  Thomas  Jeffer- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  121 

son,  have  been  honestly  perplexed  by  like  doubts,  and 
mystified  by  like  skepticisms. 

The  volumes  before  us  close  with  the  celebrated 
"  Ana."  As  a  material  part  of  the  memoirs  of  one  of 
the  leading  representative  men  of  America,  it  should 
not  be  passed  over  lightly  or  inadvertently.  We  view- 
its  character,  contents,  and  objects  as  forming  quite  a 
suspicious  feature  in  the  public  character  of  our  dis- 
tinguished subject.  We  shall  not  aver  that  it  is  unfair 
or  unallowable  to  treasure  what  me  may  casually  hear 
in  the  course  of  general  conversation  among  distin- 
guished personages,  with  a  view  to  profit  by  the  same 
in  making  up  an  estimate  of  character  and  principle. 
We  believe  that  free  conversation  is  the  surest  index 
to  honestly-conceived  opinions.  It  is  the  apposite  and 
quick  expression  of  thoughts  induced  by  reading,  or 
by  previous  casual  reflection — the  more  to  be  relied 
on,  inasmuch  as  it  is  usually  unprompted  by  cold  cal- 
culation, and  is  unrestrained  by  policy  or  timidity. 
But  to  note  down  table-talk  at  dinings,  evening  parties, 
and  at  cabinet  consultations  in  difficult,  novel,  and  try- 
ing times,  as  Jefferson  has  done  in  his  Ana,  is  not  only 
culpable,  but  is  violative  of  all  rules  which  govern  free 
social  and  political  intercourse.  During  the  adminis- 
trations of  Washington,  republicanism  was  in  its  in- 
fancy, and  the  government  in  its  chrysalis  state.  The 
hopes  of  freemen  were  suspended  on  a  thread.  The 
capacity  of  the  people  for  self-government  was  an  un- 
tried experiment.  The  best  and  the  wisest  were  doubt- 
ers ;  and  among  these  was  Washington  himself.  Ham- 
ilton was  an  open  and  professed  skeptic,  and  did  not 
scruple  to  declare,  as  his  firm  opinion,  that  monarchy 
was  the  most  reliable  form  of  government.  Old  John 
Adams  believed  the  same  way,  and  even  James  Madi- 
son indulged  apprehensions.  But  all  of  these  had  re- 
6 


l'2'2  THOMAS 

solved  that  the  experiment  should  have  a  tair  trial. 
Hamilton  was  urgent  and  steuuous  in  his  advocacy  ot' 
the  policy,  and  joined  with  Madison  and  Jay  in  pro- 
ducing a  scries  of  papers  remarkable  tor  ability  and 
power  in  support  of  a  popular  form  of  government,  and 
of  the  Constitution.  These  papers  were  embodied  into 
a  volume  which  has  attained  to  a  world-wide  celebrity 
under  the  name  of  the  "Federalist."  And  yet  it  is 
principally  to  defame  Adams  and  Hamilton  that  Jef- 
ferson indited  the  Ana,  although  every  member  of 
ington's  administration  came  in  for  a  full  share 
of  espionage.  Indeed,  itMctVerson  is  to  be  regarded  as 
a  credible  and  an  unbiased  witness,  the  fathers  of  the 
government,  excepting  Madison  and  himself,  must  have 
been  the  most  corrupt  and  selfish  cabal  of  politicians 
that  ever  disgraced  the  history  of  any  country.  He 
spares  "Washington,  truly,  but  in  a  manner  not  very 
complimentary  to  the  intellect  of  that  illustrious  and 
venerable  personage,  lie  represents  him  as  having, 
indeed,  a  good  heart,  but  a  weak,  vacillating  head;  as 
being  entirely  under  the  influence  of  Federal  advisers, 
and  as  indecisive  and  wavering  in  time  of  action. 

But  it  is  altogether  unfair  to  judge  either  Hamilton 
or  his  associates  by  opinions  expressed  at  the  time  in 
question,  especially  on  the  subject  of  popular  govern- 
ment. The  experiment,  fairly  tried  under  their  aus- 
pices, was  incontcstably  proven  and  demonstrated ; 
and,  like  all  demonstrations,  carried  conviction.  Its 
proof  was  unquestionable.  Washington  modified  his 
original  views  so  far  as  to  admit  its  practicability, 
but  died  seriously  doubting  its  permanency.  Hamil- 
ton's conduct  evinced  his  satisfaction  at  the  result,  in 
the  uudeviating  support  he  gave  to  the  judicial  and 
popular  branches  of  the  government.  The  election  of 
Jefferson  to  the  Presidency,  a  few  years  afterward. 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  123 

showed  a  general  confidence  in  the  success  of  the 
scheme,  and  the  acquiescence  of  the  Federalists,  then 
One  of  the  most  formidable  and  powerful  parties  that 
ever  existed,  was  the  clearest  evidence  of  the  triumph 
of  republicanism. 

Under  these  eireuinstanees,  and  being  cognizant  of 
these  facts,  we  can  find  no  excuse  for  the  author  of  the 
Ana  in  thus  noting  down  and  publishing  conversations 
uttered  at  an  unsettled  and  a  trying  period  of  political 
atlhirs;  and  when  opinions,  far  from  being  firmly  fixed, 
were  hastily  formed,  according  to  the  ever-shifting 
complexion  of  the  experiment,  and  expressed  less  witli 
a  view  to  convince  or  persuade,  than  to  elicit  informa- 
tion. We  confess  to  an  instinctive  distrust  of  talk- 
gatherers.  AY  hen  we  find  or  hear  of  a  politician  min- 
gling in  social  circles,  or  among  his  adversaries  around 
the  festive  board,  listening  attentively  to  conversation, 
while  cautiously  and  rarely  giving  utterance  to  his  own 
opinions,  and  then  noting  down  or  retailing  the  results 
of  his  observation,  we  feel  an  involuntary  apprehension 
of  mischief,  and  are  inclined  strongly  to  suspect  foul 
play.  1>\  this  rule  we  are  constrained  to  judge  Jeffer- 
son in  this  instance.  That  he  squared  his  conduct,  in 
alter  days,  from  the  notes  and  information  thus  suspi- 
ciously gleaned,  is  quite  evident  both  from  his  unre- 
lenting jealousy  of  Hamilton,  and  from  his  remorseless 
persecution  of  Aaron  Burr. 

In  view  of  this,  as  well  as  of  other  cogent  reasons, 
it  might  have  been  supposed  that  a  relative,  justly 
proud  of  his  distinguished  ancestor's  fame,  would  have 
spared  the  readers  of  his  book  the  mortification  of  pe- 
rusing these  unpleasant  revelations — the  evidences  of 
an  aspiring  and  a  jealous  mind,  resorting  to  a  most 
questionable  and  unworthy  espionage  in  working  out 
the  overthrow  of  unwary  adversaries.  But  the  candor 


124  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

of  Mr.  T.  J.  Randolph  was  stern  'proof  against  all  pru- 
dential suggestions  or  delicate  considerations.  A  very 
natural  and  pardonable  unwillingness  to  reduce  the 
profits  of  his  work,  and  to  lop  off  the  main  value  of 
his  grandfather's  bequest,  may  also  have  had  some 
influence  in  scotching  his  candor  against  the  invitations 
of  delicacy  and  prudence.  Nothing,  however,  is  more 
certain  than  that  the  publication  of  the  Ana  has  ope- 
rated to  detract  largely  from  the  private  character  of 
Jefferson,  and  to  tarnish  his  claims  to  fair  play  and 
candid  opposition  in  political  warfare.  We  may,  then, 
safely  assert,  that  while  Mr.  Randolph  very  prudently 
counted  the  cost  of  suppression  as  weighed  against  the 
profits  of  publication,  the  memory  of  his  illustrious  and 
venerable  ancestor  has  expiated  dearly  the  fruits  of  his 
speculation. 

Our  task  is  completed.  We  have  now  little  else  to 
do  than  briefly  to  sum  up  the  prominent  representative 
features  in  the  character  of  our  distinguished  subject, 
and  then  to  leave  the  merits  of  our  review  to  the  im- 
partial judgment  of  the  reader. 

The  influences  of  Jefferson's  character  have  been 
sensibly  impressed  on  the  people  of  this  country  from 
the  dawn  of  the  Revolution  to  the  present  hour ;  and 
they  have  been,  and  continue  to  be,  secondary  alone 
to  those  of  Washington.  Our  conclusion  has  been  that 
his  influence  has  produced  baneful  and  most  depreca- 
tive effects  on  the  moral  tone  of  our  political  world. 
His  opposition  to  all  the  essential  features  of  the  Con- 
stitution, and  to  our  present  form  of  government,  was 
deep-rooted,  insidious,  and  unceasing.  His  political 
and  governmental  theories  were  eminently  and  dan- 
gerously Jacobinical.  Deeply  tinctured  with  the  as- 
cetic and  disorganizing  principles  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, he  worshipped  an  ideal  of  democracy  that  bor- 


THOMAS   JEFFERSON.  125 

dered  on  downright  Utopianism.  On  all  points  touch- 
ing the  practicability  or  durability  of  popular  govern- 
ments, he  was  almost  fanatically  radical  and  ultra.  He 
advocated  the  largest  reservations  of  power  in  favor  of 
the  people  in  their  collective  capacity,  and  the  most 
unlimited  right  of  suffrage.  He  mistrusted  and  de- 
nounced the  well-guarded  prerogatives  of  our  Federal 
Executive,  and  grumbled  at  the  least  restraining  exer- 
cise of  even  delegated  power.  And  yet,  during  his 
own  Presidency,  his  practice  afforded  a  most  singular 
contrast  to  his  theories,  as  we  think  we  have  abun- 
dantly shown  in  the  preceding  pages.  No  President 
was  ever  so  peremptory  in  demanding  to  be  intrusted 
with  hazardous  and  questionable  powers,  and  none  so 
arbitrary  as  regarded  manifest  infractions  of  the  Con- 
stitution. He  openly  defied  and  overruled  judicial 
authority;  suggested  to  his  Congress  the  enactment 
of  laws  whose  operation  threatened  a  violent  severance 
of  the  Union ;  demanded  and  obtained  a  severe  en- 
forcing act ;  invaded  the  Treasury  at  will  to  aid  his 
policy  or  to  gratify  his  caprices ;  and  boldly  assumed  a 
stretch  of  executive  power,  without  precedent  or  paral- 
lel, by  rejecting,  at  his  single  discretion,  a  treaty  that 
ought  to  have  been  submitted  to  the  Senate  as  required 
by  the  Constitution,  and  especially  while  that  body  was 
in  session. 

As  the  founder  and  leader  of  the  Democratic  party, 
and  the  consequent  promoter,  originally,  of  the  fierce 
party  dissensions  which  have  since  distracted  the  coun- 
try, we  are  forced  to  pronounce  the  representative  ex- 
ample of  Jefferson  pernicious  beyond  computation.  We 
regard  the  influence  and  progress  of  that  party  as  emi- 
nently deleterious  to  the  political  welfare  of  the  Union, 
and  as  the  incipient  step  and  prime  mover  towards  a 
severance  of  the  States — if,  indeed,  that  calamity  shall 


126  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

ever  befall  us.  Their  disorganizing  and  "pestilential 
teachings  began  with  the  very  dawn  of  the  govern- 
ment. The  democratic  members  of  the  Convention 
which  formed  the  Constitution  maintained,  during  its 
session,  an  active  correspondence  with  Jefferson  on 
each  and  every  element  proposed  as  its  basis.  Their 
cabals  and  caucuses  were  as  frequent  as  the  meetings 
of  the  Convention.  Their  efforts  were  directed  to  the 
adoption  and  introduction  of  Jacobinical  features  cal- 
culated to  countervail  and  to  mar  all  that  was  practi- 
cal, or  that  looked  to  durableness.  Regarding  society 
more  as  it  ought  to  be,  than  it  is,  or  ever  has  been,  or 
is  ever  likely  to  be ;  seduced  by  theories  more  plausible 
than  solid ;  applying  to  a  free  elective  government,  de- 
riving all  its  powers  and  authorities  from  the  voice  of 
the  people,  maxims  and  precautions  calculated  for  the 
meridian  of  monarchy ;  they  turned  all  their  views  and 
directed  all  their  influence  towards  depreciating  and 
weakening  the  Federal  Government.  Against  this,  as 
the  Hydra-headed  monster  of  all  their  professed  appre- 
hensions, their  combined  batteries  of  talent  and  of  na- 
tional influence  were  solely  directed.  Had  they  pre- 
vailed, the  General  Government  would  have  been  com- 
pletely shorn  of  all  its  efficiency ;  and  mankind  would 
have  been  treated  with  the  singular  spectacle  of  a 
powerful  and  growing  people,  belonging  in  classes  to 
thirteen  separate  and  independent  sovereignties,  seek- 
ing a  precarious  union  in  an  instrument  allied  with 
anarchy  and  founded  in  the  grossest  radicalism.  But 
what  they  failed  to  obtain  directly,  they  have  contrived 
and  managed  to  effect  indirectly,  with  almost  perfect 
success.  The  history  of  the  country  has  clearly  shown 
that  the  root  of  evil  and  the  elements  of  destruction 
lie,  not  in  the  Federal  Government,  but  in  perverted 
construction  of  the  rights  and  powers  of  the  State  Gov- 


THOMAS   JEFFEESON.  127 

ernments,  ana  supposed  reservations  to  the  people.  To 
secure  the  ascendency  and  popularity  of  this  doctrine, 
the  Democratic  leaders  have  fallen  on  any  and  every 
species  of  party  tactics,  as  cases  or  circumstances  war- 
ranted. They  have  resorted,  alternately,  to  a  latitudi- 
nous  construction  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  to  a 
strict  construction ;  first,  they  have  contended  for  re- 
striction, and  then  for  unlimited  extension  of  federal 
power ;  first  closing  the  door  to  all  constitutional  ad- 
mission of  foreign  territory,  and  then  abruptly  break- 
ing down  every  barrier  to  acquisition  and  conquest, 
and  bringing  in  new  States  formed  out  of  territory 
reaching  from  the  tropic  of  Cancer  to  the  fiftieth  paral- 
lel of  north  latitude,  washed  severally  by  the  waves  of 
the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans.  With  Jesuitical  un- 
scrupulousness,  they  have  pursued  their  ambitious  ends, 
little  regardful  of  the  means  used  for  the  accomplish- 
ment. Consistency  has  been  reckoned  a  virtue  only  so 
long  as  it  accorded  with  expediency.  Principle  has 
been  made  the  handmaiden  of  policy.  Party  and 
power  have  been  the  watchwords  through  all  phases 
of  political  or  sectional  differences,  and  among  all  the 
strifes  of  ambitious  and  aspiring  rulers.  And,  as  the 
crowning  point  of  their  incongruous  system,  it  may  be 
stated  as  a  remarkable  and  an  instructive  fact,  that  the 
Democratic  party,  while  using  the  whole  enginery  of 
political  power  to  hang  Burr  for  suspected  designs 
against  the  Union,  and  while  threatening  the  Nullifiers 
with  the  cannon  of  the  General  Government,  has  yet 
been  the  apologist  for  every  popular  outbreak  and  rev- 
olutionary movement,  from  the  tune  of  the  Massachu- 
setts insurrection  to  the  Dorr  rebellion  in  Rhode  Island. 
The  connection  of  Thomas  Jefferson  with  all  these  dis- 
organizing principles  has  been  sufliciently  explained  in 
the  foregoing  pages.  We  regard  him  as  the  master- 


128  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

spirit  of  former  mischievous  inculcations,  and  his  influ- 
ence as  the  mam  prompting  cause  of  all  succeeding  po- 
litical malversations  of  "  the  progressive  Democracy." 
In  fact,  and  at  the  best,  the  impartial  reviewer  is  con- 
strained to  measure  the  public  character  of  Thomas 
Jefferson  by  a  rule  of  selfishness  that  shone  conspicu- 
ous through  his  whole  political  career,  and  which  must 
ever  detract  materially  from  his  claims  to  gratitude 
and  veneration  as  a  statesman.  And  while  all  unite  in 
ascribing  to  him  great  powers  of  mind,  vast  cultivation 
and  information,  and  much  that  elicits  and  merits 
thankfulness  in  connection  with  our  Revolutionary  his- 
tory, his  memory  will  be  mainly  perpetuated,  and  his 
admirers 'must  consent  mainly  to  hand  him  down  as  the 
eldest  Patriarch  of  radical  Democracy. 

With  all  his  budding  honors  in  the  political  world, 
Jefferson  had  been  through  life,  in  another  and  tenderer 
connection,  a  man  of  afflictions  and  sorrows.  Death 
had  visited  his  family  circle  more  than  once.  One  by 
one  its  loved  members  had  been  snatched  away.  While 
yet  at  the  starting  point  of  elevation,  and  while  the 
halo  of  future  honors  gleamed  but  faintly  in  the  distant 
political  horizon,  he  beheld  the  grave  close  over  all  that 
had  been  affectionate  and  beautiful  in  her  who  had 
blessed  his  youth  with  her  love,  and  made  happy  the 
earliest  home  of  his  manhood.  She  left  him  two  little 
daughters,  and  the  memory  of  her  love  ;  and  these 
were  the  sole  pledge  and  token  of  their  union.  Her 
memory  found  its  shrine  in  the  warmest  affections  of 
his  heart,  and  his  love  was  never  shared  by  another. 
The  daughters,  under  his  paternal  care,  survived  the 
trials  of  youth,  and  grew  to  be  accomplished  and  fas- 
cinating women.  They  married ;.  and  his  home  and 
fireside  were  left  cheerless.  In  a  few  years,  the  elder 
of  the  two  sickened  and  died,  before  the  father  had 


THOMAS   JEFFEESON.  129 

even  grown  familiar  with  her  absence.  This  was  in  the 
meridian  of  his  first  Presidency;  but  the  pomp,  and 
circumstance,  and  splendor  of  high  office  could  not  as- 
suage the  anguish  of  a  wounded  heart.  The  blow  fell 
heavily  and  unexpectedly.  Henceforth  his  earthly  af- 
fections were  absorbed  in  the  love  of  his  only  remain- 
ing child  and  her  children.  And  while  yet  the  chasten- 
ing rod  of  death  was  suspended,  and  he  was  bending 
beneath  its  trying  inflictions,  and  when  the  ease  and 
emolument  of  office  were  approximating  to  a  close,  a 
new  source  of  anxiety  and  of  misfortune  was  sprung. 
Forty  years  of  his  life,  and  more,  had  been  abstracted 
from  his  own  and  given  to  the  affairs  of  the  country. 
As  property  possesses  no  self-preserving  principle,  that 
of  Jefferson  had  suffered  seriously  and  alarmingly  under 
such  long  neglect.  He  left  the  Executive  mansion 
deeply  embarrassed,  and  returned  to  Monticello  heavily 
oppressed  in  mind  and  circumstances.  His  books,  his 
apparatus,  his  literary  and  scientific  pursuits  were  all 
impotent  to  chase  off  these  mortifying  reflections,  and 
the  rich  treasures  of  intellectual  research  were  soiled 
by  a  commixture  with  the  less  welcome  but  necessary 
employment  of  lottery  draughts  and  financial  calcula- 
tions. The  generous  interposition  of  Congress  enabled 
him  to  keep  his  library ;  and  the  forbearance  and  liber- 
ality of  those  he  owed,  added  to  other  matters,  helped 
him  to  avoid  the  sheriff's  clutches.  His  estate,  how- 
ever, was  never  relieved,  and  his  principal  bequest  to 
those  he  left  behind  consisted  of  the  papers  which  com- 
pose the  volumes  we  have  just  closed. 

On  the  fourth  of  July,  1826,  just  fifty  years  from 
the  memorable  day  which  had  witnessed  the  birth  of 
American  Independence,  and  simultaneously  with  that 
of  John  Adams,  the  spirit  of  Jefferson  took  its  flight 
from  earth.  He  died  at  Monticello,  in  the  arms  of  his 
6* 


130  THOMAS   JEFFERSON. 

surviving  daughter,  at  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-three 
years.  His  last  conversations  showed  that  the  waning 
faculties  of  mind  were  busy  with  the  long  past  eventful 
scenes  of  his  life.  His  thoughts  wandered  from  the 
strifes  and  unpleasant  personal  collisions  with  old  po- 
litical friends  which  had  blurred  the  latter  years  of  his 
public  career,  and  seemed  to  dwell  amid  the  conse- 
crated shades  of  Independence  Hall,  and  the  stirring 
scenes  of  the  Revolutionary  era.  His  last  wish  was 
"  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  inhale  the  refreshing 
breath  of  another  Fourth  of  July."  And  the  wish  was 
granted. 


A  REVIEW  OF  THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES 


OP 


WILLIAM    EL    CKAWFOKD.* 

AMONG  the  public  men  of  the  past  generation  who 
may  be  styled  representative  characters,  few  stand 
higher  on  the  list  than  WILLIAM  HAKEIS  CKAWFOKD. 
His  name  and  political  character  have  been  indelibly 
impressed  on  the  history  of  the  country,  and  long  suc- 
ceeding generations  will  look  to  him  as  an  eminent 
republican  exemplar.  His  fame,  therefore,  will  be 
permanent;  but  the  remains  of  his  public  career, 
owing  to  his  peculiar  temperament  and  habits  of  life, 
are  singularly  intangible,  and  belong  entirely,  as  natu- 
ralists would  say,  to  the  fossil  species.  There  was 
nothing  in  his  private  or  public  character  to  invite  the 
gossipry  of  history — that  surest  method  of  emblazon- 
ing one's  reputation.  He  did  not  belong  to  that  class 
of  politicians  whom  crowds  follow  and  admire,  of  whom 
every  penny  writer  has  something  to  say,  and  whose 
journeys  form  one  continuous  and  glaring  pageant. 
He  never  acted  for  the  multitude.  If  he  had  ambition 
to  be  great,  it  was  of  that  elevated  order  that  looked 
less  to  ephemeral  popularity  than  to  great  and  durable 

*  Sketch  of  the  Life  of  William  H.  Crawford.    National  Portrait 
Gallery.    Philadelphia.    1839. 


132  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED. 

results.  When  the  ends  for  which  he  strove  had  been 
accomplished,  he  did  not  pause,  like  most  other  leading 
statesmen,  to  preserve  the  means  of  such  accomplish- 
ment. History,  therefore,  is  barren  of  his  deeds,  and 
perpetuates  his  name  only.  It  is  true  that,  now  and 
then,  as  we  wade  through  ponderous  tomes  of  the  na- 
tional archives,  we  stumble  on  some  majestic  record  of 
his  genius  that  shines  forth  from  the  dreary  waste  with 
surpassing  splendor ;  or  that,  like  some  towering  col- 
umn among  ancient  and  unidentified  ruins,  unbroken 
by  age  and  erect  amidst  the  crumbled  masses  around, 
tells  of  a  giant  race  that  have  passed  before. 

The  sketch  before  us,  understood  to  be  from  the 
pen  of  his  accomplished  son-in-law,  Mr.  George  M. 
Dudley,  of  Sumter  county,  Georgia,  was  not  designed, 
as  its  limits  evince,  to  be  full  or  satisfactory.  We  must 
say,  however,  that  the  deficiency  appears  to  have  pro- 
ceeded more  from  injudicious  and  unauthorized  prun- 
ing* by  some  witless  paragraphist,  than  from  any  origi- 
nal omission  in  the  article  itself.  The  arrangement  does 
not  quite  indicate  the  tasteful  handiwork  and  nice  dis- 
crimination which  we  happen  to  know  to  be  character- 
istics of  the  author.  We  have  been  informed,  in  fact, 
that  the  sketch  was  unwisely  mutilated,  and  so  sheared 
and  nipped  as  to  entirely  pervert  its  chief  purposes  and 
intended  historical  effect.  At  all  events,  however,  the 
world  is  indebted  to  Mr.  Dudley  for  the  only  authentic 
biography  of  his  illustrious  relative.  We  have,  there- 
fore$  chosen  to  make  his  sketch  the  text  of  the  following 
article ;  with  no  view,  let  us  say,  to  criticism,  for,  under 
the  circumstances,  that  would  be  neither  allowable  nor 
tasteful, — though  it  is  possible  that  we  may  take  the 
liberty  of  dissenting,  in  an  instance  or  two,  from  what 
we  candidly  think  to  be,  perhaps,  some  of  its  too  ready 
conclusions.  We  design,  however,  not  so  much  to 


WILLIAM   II.    CEAWFORD.  133 

coiiiine  our  objects  to  mere  succinct  biographical  de- 
tail, as  to  briefly  review  the  prominent  features  in  the 
life  of  an  individual  reckoned  among  the  greatest  of 
his  day,  and  of  times  which  form  an  important  epoch 
in  the  political  history  of  the  Republic.  We  address 
ourself  to  such  task  not  without  considerable  embar- 
rassnlent  and  distrust.  The  difficulties  already  inti- 
mated are  very  discouraging.  Mr.  Crawford  left  no 
materials  on  which  to  build  any  connected  account  of 
his  life.  His  contemporaries  are  ready  to  expatiate 
largely  concerning  his  greatness,  but  they  can  point  to 
but  few  recorded  monuments  of  his  fame.  Although 
twenty  years  have  not  elapsed  since  the  period  of  his 
decease — although  numbers  even  of  the  rising  genera- 
tion have  seen  and  spoken  with  him — yet  is  he  already 
shelved  as  the  Hortensius  of  his  time — who,  while  glim- 
meringly  acknowledged  as  a  greater  than  Cicero,  and 
whose  name  will  be  familiar  through  countless  ages  to 
come,  has  left  "  not  a  wreck "  of  his  genius,  and  lives 
only  in  tradition  and  in  the  eulogies  of  his  rival.  This 
is  not  the  only  difficulty.  The  history  of  the  period  in 
which  Mr.  Crawford  figured  as  a  statesman,  apart  from 
its  mere  general  features,  has  never  been  compiled ; 
and  it  is  not  only  undefined,  but  is  quite  obscured  from 
ordinary  research.  It  embraces  much  collateral  in- 
terest that  must  be  patiently  gleaned  from  scanty  and 
scattered  remnants,  and  which  we  are  obliged  to  intro- 
duce very  detachedly  in  the  course  of  this  review.  It 
extends  through  a  period  which  witnessed  a  total  dis-. 
solution  and  absorption  of  one  of  the  ancient  political 
parties,  the  reconstruction  of  the  other,  and  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  third  of  which  he  himself  must  be  reck- 
oned the  principal  founder,  but  which  had  not  obtained 
its  present  identity  and  compactness  when  disease  hur- 
ried him  prematurely  from  the  theatre  of  political  life. 


134  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOBD. 

It  also  embraces  some  points  personal  to  himself,  and 
to  other  distinguished  public  characters,  which  render 
their  evisceration  and  discussion  quite  a  delicate  under- 
taking, but  which,  nevertheless,  ought  not  to  be  passed 
over  unnoticed — especially  by  the  candid  and  privileged 
reviewer.  Thus  much  we  have  deemed  it  necessary  to 
premise,  as  well  to  explain  the  meagreness  of  what 
might  be  otherwise  regarded  a  prolific  subject,  as  to 
advertise  the  reader  of  the  more  immediate  purposes 
of  this  article. 

Crawford  was  born,  as  we  are  told,  in  Nelson  coun- 
ty, Virginia,  in  February,  1772.  While  yet  quite  a 
youth  his  parents  removed  to  Georgia, — first  to  near 
Augusta,  and  afterwards  to  Columbia  coiinty.  Here 
he  was  sent  to  school,  and  learned  the  ordinary  Eng- 
lish branches  of  education.  He  had  scarcely  attained 
the  sixteenth  year  of  his  age  when  his  father  died, 
leaving  the  family  in  very  reduced  circumstances. 
Young  Crawford  immediately  turned  his  yet  scanty 
learning  to  active  account,  and  supported  his  mother 
and  family  by  teaching  school,  until  he  was  twenty-two 
years  old.  At  this  time  he  began  to  feel  a  desire  to 
obtain  a  classical  education,  and  was  not  at  all  deterred, 
even  at  his  comparatively  advanced  age,  from  seeking 
its  gratification.  There  was,  in  the  same  county  as  his 
own  little  school,  an  academy  of  high  repute,  under  the 
superintendence  of  a  teacher  who  afterwards  became 
famous  as  the  instructor  of  the  leading  statesmen  of 
the  South.  Even  then,  his  obscure  literary  realm  con- 
tained subjects  who,  in  after  years,  adorned  the  na- 
tional councils,  and  filled  the  country  with  their  fame. 
That  retired  academy  was,  in  fact,  the  nursery  of  Geor- 
gia*! most  distinguished  sons,  in  politics,  literature,  and 
religion.  The  rector  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Moses  Waddell, 
who,  at  a  subsequent  period,  became  widely  known  as 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  135 

the  founder  of  Willington  Academy,  in  Abbeville  Dis- 
trict, South  Carolina, — celebrated  as  the  matriculating 
font  of  John  Caldwell  Calhoun,  as  also  of  many  others 
whose  names  are  eminently  renowned  in  the  land. 

In  1794  young  Crawford  entered  Carmel  Academy 
as  a  student.  He  soon  obtained  the  confidence  and 
favor  of  Dr.  Waddell,  and  was  promoted  to  the  situa- 
tion of  usher,  receiving,  as  his  compensation,  one-third 
of  the  tuition  money.  We  have  heard  it  told  of  him, 
that  while  at  this  academy,  in  the  double  capacity  of 
tutor  and  pupil,  it  was  determined  by  himself  and  some 
few  of  the  elder  school-boys,  to  enliven  their  annual 
public  examination  by  representing  a  play.  They  se- 
lected Addison's  Cato;  and  in  forming  the  cast  of 
characters,  that  of  the  Roman  Senator  was,  of  course, 
assigned  to  the  worthy  usher.  Crawford  was  a  man 
of  extraordinary  height  and  large  limbs,  and  was  always 
ungraceful  and  awkward,  besides  being  constitutionally 
unfitted,  in  every  way,  to  act  any  character  but  his 
own.  He,  however,  cheerfully  consented  to  play  Cato. 
It  was  matter  of  great  sport,  even  during  rehearsal,  as 
his  young  companions  beheld  the  huge,  ungainly  usher, 
with  giant  strides  and  Stentorian  voice,  go  through 
with  the  representation  of  the  stern,  precise  old  Roman. 
But  on  the  night  of  the  grand  exhibition,  an  incident, 
eminently  characteristic  of  the  counterfeit  Cato,  oc- 
curred, which  effectually  broke  up  the  denouement  of 
the  tragedy.  Crawford  had  conducted  the  Senate 
scene  with  tolerable  success,  though  rather  boisterously 
for  so  solemn  an  occasion,  and  had  even  managed  to 
struggle  through  with  the  apostrophe  to  the  soul  r  but 
when  the  dying  scene  behind  the  curtain  came  to  be 
acted,  Cato's  groan  of  agony  was  bellowed  out  with 
such  hearty  good  earnest  as  totally  to  scare  away  the 
tragic  muse,  and  set  prompter,  players,  and  audience  in 


136  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

a  general,  unrestrained  fit  of  laughter.  This  was,  we 
believe,  the  future  statesman's  first  and  last  theatrical 
attempt. 

In  the  fall  of  1796,  leaving  his  situation  in  the  Car- 
mel  Academy,  he  bent  his  way  to  the  then  young  city 
of  Augusta,  and  became  principal  in  one  of  the  largest 
schools.  It  was  here  that  floating  dreams  of  profes- 
sional eminence  first  passed  through  his  mind ;  suggest- 
ing, at  the  same  time,  more  enlarged  plans  of  accumu- 
lation. He  accordingly  set  himself  to  studying  the  law, 
and  pursued  his  task  with  an  assiduousness  and  dili- 
gence that  knew  no  abatement,  and  that  augured  a 
speedy  and  successful  accomplishment.  He  was  admit- 
ted to  the  practice  in  1798,  and  the  year  following, 
with  a  view  to  seek  a  suitable  theatre  of  pursuit,  he  re- 
moved into  the  county  of  Oglethorpe,  and  opened  an 
office  in  the  little  village  of  Lexington,  its  county  seat. 
"  Such  were  his  perseverance,  industry,  and  talents," 
says  Mr.  Dudley,  "  that  he  soon  attracted  the  notice  of 
that  distinguished  statesman  and  profound  jurist,  Peter 
Early,  then  at  the  head  of  his  profession  in  the  Up 
Country,  and  to  whom  he  became  ardently  and  sin- 
cerely attached.  His  great  professional  zeal,  that  al- 
ways made  his  client's  cause  his  own,  his  unremitted 
attention  to  business,  his  punctuality  and  promptness 
in  its  despatch,  his  undisguised  frankness  and  official 
sincerity — disdaining  the  little  artifices  and  over-reach- 
ing craft  of  the  profession — combined  with  a  dignity 
>?hich,  springing  from  self-respect  alone,  was  entirely 
unmingled  with  affectation ;  his  honesty  and  irreproach- 
able jnoral  character,  accompanied  with  manners  the 
most  plain,  simple,  and  accessible,  secured  for  him  a 
public  and  private  reputation  seldom  equalled,  and 
never  surpassed  in  any  country."  This  graphic  account, 
tallying  with  the  whole  character  of  the  distinguished 


WILLIAM   H.    ORAWFOBD.  137 

subject,  is  not  at  all  exaggeration,  but  is  testified  to  by 
the  speedy  advancement  of  Crawford,  who,  indeed, 
after  Mr.  Early's  entrance  into  Congress  during  1802, 
might  fairly  be  said  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  bar  of 
the  Western  Circuit. 

These  arduous  professional  duties  and  this  severe 
mental  discipline  were  not  without  early  and  abundant 
fruits.  The  greatness  and  overshadowing  lustre  of  his 
expanding  mind  began  soon  to  diffuse  an  influence  else- 
where than  in  the  court-room.  The  dull  precincts  of 
the  bar,  cramped  jury  boxes,  stale  law  arguments,  and 
the  harsh  routine  of  office  business,  abundant  though  it 
was,  were  insufficient  to  afford  that  scope  which  might 
satisfy  the  intellectual  energies  of  such  a  person.  The 
excitement  of  the  political  arena  tempted  him  to  the 
trial  for  larger  honors;  and  in  the  fall  of  1803  he  was 
called  by  the  people  of  his  county  to  represent  them  in 
the  Legislature  of  Georgia.  In  this  station  a  new  field 
of  ambition  was  suddenly  opened  to  the  grasping  intel- 
lect of  Crawford;  and  plunging  as  he  did  forthwith 
into  the  absorbing  vortex  of  politics,  we  lose  sight  of 
him  as  a  professional  man  for  many  long  and  eventful 
years — years  of  triumph  and  of  trial,  of  pride  and  of 
affliction. 

At  this  period  began  also  a  new  and  most  memora- 
ble epoch  in  the  political  history  of  Georgia,  which, 
dating  from  Crawford's  entrance  into  the  Legislature, 
controlled  her  destiny  for  well  nigh  thirty  years,  and 
continues  its  influence,  though  in  a  greatly  modified  de- 
gree, to  the  present  time.  Indeed,  it  is  a  striking  and 
most  remarkable  fact,  that  the  grapple  of  great  minds, 
stimulated  by  malignant  and  inveterate  rivalry,  never 
fails,  even  in  the  mild  contests  of  civil  life,  compara- 
tively speaking,  to  imprint  lasting  and  influential  traces 
on  the  age  which  witnesses  the  struggle.  This  is  emi- 


138  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

nently  the  case  in  political  circles,  from  which,  for  the 
first  time,  are  to  be  drawn  the  bitter  elements  of  party. 
And  so  it  was,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  in  the 
present  instance.  At  one  of  the  sessions  of  the  Legis- 
lature, during  the  time  of  Crawford's  service  in  that 
body,  it  so  happened  that  a  member  introduced  a  series 
of  resolutions  which  looked  to  the  impeachment  of  a 
leading  judicial  incumbent  of  one  of  the  Georgia  cir- 
cuits. The  individual  thus  assaulted  had  been  long  a 
prized  friend  and  confidential  associate  of  Crawford. 
He  had  been  also  an  active  and  industrious  opponent 
of  another  personage  who  was  then  becoming  rapidly 
conspicuous  in  the  political  world,  and  whose  prominent 
position  had  already  enlisted  the  sympathy  of  such  as 
were  placing  themselves  in  opposition  to  our  distin- 
guished subject.  This  was  General  John  Clarke. 
Clarke,  finding  on  the  present  occasion  an  opportunity 
to  vent  his  intolerance  and  vindictiveness,  supported 
the  resolutions  with  ardor  and  unabating  zeal.  On  the 
other  hand,  Crawford  opposed  them  with  the  energy 
of  fast  friendship,  and  with  a  violence  that  betokened 
at  once  the  depth  of  personal  feeling  and  the  indignant 
contempt  in  which  he  held  those  who  were  urging  their 
adoption.  As  might  have  been  expected,  this  fierce 
collision  of  master  minds  soon  diverted  attention  and 
interest  from  the  true  issue,  and  all  eyes  fastened 
eagerly  on  the  hostile  champions.  Parties  and  factions 
were  formed,  and  the  limits  of  social  intercourse  were 
jealously  confined  to  those  of  factional  sympathy.  The 
soirees  of  the  fashionable  world  were  governed  by  like 
envenomed  rules.  Innkeepers,  and  publicans  of  all  de- 
scriptions, imbibing  the  excitement,  eschewed  indis- 
criminate gatherings,  and  advertised  their  cheer  as 
being  intended  only  for  those  who  espoused  the  cause, 
respectively,  of  Clarke  or  of  Crawford.  The  contagion 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

spread  through  all  castes  and  classes  of  society  ;  it,  in 
fact,  found  way  even  to  the  bosom  of  hitherto  harmo- 
nious and  exclusive  religious  fraternities.  Nor  was  it  a 
strife  alone  of  words.  Forensic  weapons  were  soon  laid 
aside,  and  the  rival  champions,  urged  on  by  implacable 
and  impulsive  factionists,  resorted  to  weapons  of  a 
deadlier  character.  A  challenge  to  mortal  combat 
passed  and  was  accepted.  The  terms  were  soon  ar- 
ranged, the  parties  met,  and  a  fight  with  pistols,  at  the 
usual  distance,  ensued.  Crawford,  though  brave  and 
fearless  to  a  degree  scarcely  compatible  with  his  pol- 
ished amiability  and  amenity  of  disposition,  was  natu- 
rally awkward,  nervous,  and  every  way  unqualified  for 
a  genuine  duellist.  Clarke  was,  on  the  contrary,  a 
practised  fighter,  and  highly  skilled  in  the  use  of  weap- 
ons, while,  at  the  same  time,  of  equally  unquestionable 
courage.  The  result  might  have  been  anticipated. 
Heedless  of  all  precautionary  monitions  and  instructions 
from  his  friends  who  accompanied  him  to  the  field  as 
seconds,  Crawford  took  his  position  at  the  peg  with  the 
same  carelessness  as  he  was  wont  to  swagger  to  his 
seat  at  the  bar  of  a  county  court,  exposing  his  left  arm 
in  a  manner  to  catch  the  ball  of  even  the  rawest  duel- 
list. Consequently,  when  fires  were  exchanged,  Clarke 
was  found  to  be  entirely  untouched,  while  his  unerring 
ball  had  taken  effect  in  the  wrist  of  his  antagonist,  hor- 
ribly crushing  the  bones,  and  producing  the  most  ex- 
quisite pain. 

This  shot,  of  course,  terminated  the  fight;  and 
Crawford  was  removed  from  the  field  to  linger*  for 
months  in  expiatory  anguish.  But  so  far  from  appeas- 
ing factional  differences,  the  fight  only  served  to  add 
fuel  to  the  flame.  The  news  of  the  duel,  and  .of  its 
unpleasing  result,  spread  rapidly  through  ah1  portions 
of  the  State,  stirring  up  new  and  fiercer  elements  of 


138  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

nently  the  case  in  political  circles,  from  which,  for  the 
first  time,  are  to  be  drawn  the  bitter  elements  of  party. 
And  so  it  was,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  in  the 
present  instance.  At  one  of  the  sessions  of  the  Legis- 
lature, during  the  time  of  Crawford's  service  in  that 
body,  it  so  happened  that  a  member  introduced  a  series 
of  resolutions  which  looked  to  the  impeachment  of  a 
leading  judicial  incumbent  of  one  of  the  Georgia  cir- 
cuits. The  individual  thus  assaulted  had  been  long  a 
prized  friend  and  confidential  associate  of  Crawford. 
He  had  been  also  an  active  and  industrious  opponent 
of  another  personage  who  was  then  becoming  rapidly 
conspicuous  in  the  political  world,  and  whose  prominent 
position  had  already  enlisted  the  sympathy  of  such  as 
were  placing  themselves  in  opposition  to  our  distin- 
guished subject.  This  was  General  John  Clarke. 
Clarke,  finding  on  the  present  occasion  an  opportunity 
to  vent  his  intolerance  and  vindictiveness,  supported 
the  resolutions  with  ardor  and  unabating  zeal.  On  the 
other  hand,  Crawford  opposed  them  with  the  energy 
of  fast  friendship,  and  with  a  violence  that  betokened 
at  once  the  depth  of  personal  feeling  and  the  indignant 
contempt  in  which  he  held  those  who  were  urging  their 
adoption.  As  might  have  been  expected,  this  fierce 
collision  of  master  minds  soon  diverted  attention  and 
interest  from  the  true  issue,  and  all  eyes  fastened 
eagerly  on  the  hostile  champions.  Parties  and  factions 
were  formed,  and  the  limits  of  social  intercourse  were 
jealously  confined  to  those  of  factional  sympathy.  The 
soirees  of  the  fashionable  world  were  governed  by  like 
envenomed  rules.  Innkeepers,  and  publicans  of  all  de- 
scriptions, imbibing  the  excitement,  eschewed  indis- 
criminate gatherings,  and  advertised  their  cheer  as 
being  intended  only  for  those  who  espoused  the  cause, 
respectively,  of  Clarke  or  of  Crawford.  The  contagion 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  139 

spread  through  all  castes  and  classes  of  society  ;  it,  in 
fact,  found  way  even  to  the  bosom  of  hitherto  harmo- 
nious and  exclusive  religious  fraternities.  Nor  was  it  a 
strife  alone  of  words.  Forensic  weapons  were  soon  laid 
aside,  and  the  rival  champions,  urged  on  by  implacable 
and  impulsive  factionists,  resorted  to  weapons  of  a 
deadlier  character.  A  challenge  to  mortal  combat 
passed  and  was  accepted.  The  terms  were  soon  ar- 
ranged, the  parties  met,  and  a  fight  with  pistols,  at  the 
usual  distance,  ensued.  Crawford,  though  brave  and 
fearless  to  a  degree  scarcely  compatible  with  his  pol- 
ished amiability  and  amenity  of  disposition,  was  natu- 
rally awkward,  nervous,  and  every  way  unqualified  for 
a  genuine  duellist.  Clarke  was,  on  the  contrary,  a 
practised  fighter,  and  highly  skilled  in  the  use  of  weap- 
ons, while,  at  the  same  time,  of  equally  unquestionable 
courage.  The  result  might  have  been  anticipated. 
Heedless  of  all  precautionary  monitions  and  instructions 
from  his  friends  who  accompanied  him  to  the  field  as 
seconds,  Crawford  took  his  position  at  the  peg  with  the 
same  carelessness  as  he  was  wont  to  swagger  to  his 
seat  at  the  bar  of  a  county  court,  exposing  his  left  arm 
in  a  manner  to  catch  the  ball  of  even  the  rawest  duel- 
list. Consequently,  when  fires  were  exchanged,  Clarke 
was  found  to  be  entirely  untouched,  while  his  unerring 
ball  had  taken  effect  in  the  wrist  of  his  antagonist,  hor- 
ribly crushing  the  bones,  and  producing  the  most  ex- 
quisite pain. 

This  shot,  of  course,  terminated  the  fight;  and 
Crawford  was  removed  from  the  field  to  linger*  for 
months  in  expiatory  anguish.  But  so  far  from  appeas- 
ing factional  differences,  the  fight  only  served  to  add 
fuel  to  the  flame.  The  news  of  the  duel,  and  .of  its 
unpleasing  result,  spread  rapidly  through  all  portions 
of  the  State,  stirring  up  new  and  fiercer  elements  of 


140  \V1LLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

strife,  and  confirming  and  strengthening  all  previous 
animosities.  Hill  and  vale,  mountain  and  plain,  echoed 
to  the  war-whoop  of  arousing  factions,  and  rang  with 
the  angry  notes  of  a  gathering  that  might  have  startled 
"  Clan- Alpine's  warriors."  Men  waited  not  to  hear  or 
to  argue  the  causes  and  grounds  which  divided  their 
respective  champions,  but  each  side  mustered  to  the 
banner  of  its  favorite,  and  formed  in  line  for  a  long, 
bitter,  and  distracting  conflict.  The  names  of  the  ri- 
vals were  assumed  as  the  watchwords  of  the  two  par- 
ties, and  for  many  years  afterwards  every  election,  from 
that  of  beat  constable  or  militia  captain  to  that  of 
,  Congressman  or  Governor,  was  decided,  not  with  re- 
gard to  principle  or  qualification,  but  by  a  trial  of 
strength  between  the  friends  of  Crawford  and  the 
friends  of  Clarke.  Even  after  Crawford  had  been 
transferred  from  the  councils  of  the  State  to  those  of 
the  Nation,  the  flame  of  dissension  was  kept  alive  with 
vestal- like  fidelity  and  tenacity ;  for  there  arose  up  in 
his  place  a  successor  who,  from  the  first,  asserted  a  full 
right  to  the  fiery  inheritance  by  his  high-handedness 
and  party  bigotry,  and  whose  name,  when  uttered  even 
at  this  day,  stirs  up  within  the  bosom  of  the  old  Geor- 
gian a  wild  association  of  ancient  party  jealousies  and 
of  long-gone  personal  predilections.  Indeed,  the  elec- 
tion struggles  of  the  Clarkites  and  the  Troupites  have 
been  too  recently  absorbed  by  those  of  Whig  and 
Democrat  to  have  passed  from  the  recollection  of  even 
the  youngest  of  the  present  generation  of  voters. 

This  ferocious  contest,  even  after  one  side  had 
changed  its  original  battle-cry,  lasted  continuously  and 
witli  rvi-r-inc.ruasing  malignancy  for  twenty  years.  Aji 
the  great  Slate  elections  of  1825,  victory,  no  longer  un- 
certain and  wavering,  perched  finally  on  the  standard 
of  the  Troup  party.  A  pitched  battle,  decisive  in  its 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  141 

results  as  that  of  Pharsalia,  had  been  fought  by  mutual 
consent.  Every  log  had  been  rolled — every  stone  had 
been  turned.  Obscure,  unfrequented  county  corners 
had  been  diligently  scoured  to  swell  the  voting  hordes. 
The  sinks  of  cities  had  been  ransacked.  Cross-road 
and  village  drunkards,  who  had  slept  for-  months  in 
ditches  or  in  gutters,  and  whose  sober  moments  had 
been  as  few  and  far  between  as  angel  visits,  were  as- 
siduously excavated  and  hauled  to  the  polls.  The 
prison  doors  were  flung  open  to  pining  and  ^hapless 
debtors,  who,  but  for  this  fierce  war  of  parties,  might 
have  languished  away  the  prime  of  their  lives  within 
the  gloomy  walls  of  a  dungeon.  Old  men  who  had 
been  bed-ridden  for  years,  and  who  had  long  since 
shaken  adieux  with  the  ballot-box,  were  industriously 
hunted  up,  and  conveyed  by  faithful  and  tender  hands 
to  the  nearest  precinct.  Patients  shivering  with  ague 
or  burning  with  fever,  struggled  with  pain  long  enough 
to  cast  their  votes ;  and  it  is  within  the  recollection  of 
many  now  living,  that  drooping  paralytics,  unable  to 
move  from  the  carts  or  dearborns  which  had  borne 
them  from  their  couches,  were  served  with  the  box  at 
the  court-house  steps,  by  zealous  and  accommodating 
officers.  Nothing,  in  fact,  had  been  left  undone  which 
might  contribute  to  bring  the  struggle  to  a  decisive 
and  unquestioned  issue.  Accordingly,  when  the  day 
arrived,  each  party,  marshalled  by  its  favorite  chieftain, 
was  ready  for  action ;  and  amidst  drinking,  cavillings, 
partisan  harangues,  quarrels,  and  ring  fights,  the  polls 
were  opened.  Every  minute  of  time  was  wranglingly 
contended  for  in  favor  of  lagging  voters — every  sus- 
picion was  made  the  pretext  for  a  challenge.  But  the 
scrolls  soon  showed  on  which  side  the  tides  of  victory 
were  rolling.  The  contest  resulted  in  a  complete  tri- 
umph of  the  Crawford  or  Troup  party,  while  the  Clark- 


142  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFOED. 

ites,  chagrined  and  crest-fallen,  acknowledged  for  the 
first  time  that  they  had  been  fairly  overcome. 

When  the  issue  of  this  memorable  election  had  been 
fully  ascertained,  and  disseminated  through  the  State, 
all  Georgia  became  a  scene  of  rejoicing  and  revelry. 
Magnanimity  was  forgotten  in  the  maddening  mirth 
of  triumph  at  the  defeat  of  a  long-despised  foe.  The 
ordinary  greetings  of  civil  life  were  ungenerously  ex- 
changed for  taunts  or  exultant  blusterings  when  in  the 
presence  of  a  vanquished  adversary.  Little  children 
ran  about  singing  and  shouting  from  the  very  contagion 
of  gladness.  "Women  threw  aside  the  needle  and  the 
shuttle  to  prepare  for  the  dance  and  the  feast.  The 
men  gave  up  business  for  merry-making ;  and  many 
who  had  been  long  famed  for  their  severe  morality  and 
ghostly  manner  of  life,  were  surprised  in  the  joyous 
melee,  and  were  seen  reeling  about  and  carousing  with 
their  less  austere  neighbors.  The  day  was  enlivened 
by  hilarious  and  gratulatory  gatherings,  and  the  night 
made  beautiful  and  merry  by  gorgeous  illuminations 
and  garish  festivities. 

Such  is,  briefly  and  imperfectly,  the  origin  and  par- 
tial history  of  those  local  factional  issues  which  so  long 
distracted  the  State  of  Georgia,  during  the  stirring 
times  of  Crawford's  political  life.  During  the  period 
of  their  baneful  ascendency,  society  was  awfully  af- 
flicted. Friendships  were  often  rudely  severed,  fami- 
lies divided,  and  whole  neighborhoods  broken  up  and 
made  hostile  by  the  deplorable  influences  of  this  par- 
tisan rancor.  In  fact,  the  Presidential  election  of  1840 
was  the  first  contest  since  1806  which  possessed  suffi- 
cient strength,  as  regarded  other  issues,  to  overcome 
this  ancient  embodiment  of  party  warfare ;  and  it  is 
remarkable  that,  even  at  this  day,  the  Democratic  and 
Whig  parties  of  Georgia  are  composed,  in  the  main,  of 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  143 

< 

these  old  factions — the  Clarkites  being  mostly  of  the 
former,  and  the  Troupites  of  the  latter  party. 

At  the  session  of  1807  the  Legislature  of  Georgia 
had  elected  Crawford  a  Senator  of  the  United  States, 
to  fill  the  vacancy  occasioned  by  the  death  of  Abraham 
Baldwin,  a  signer  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
and  of  the  Federal  Constitution.  This  flattering  mark 
of  distinguished  merit,  thus  early  conferred  on  one  so 
recently  an  humble  and  unaspiring  pedagogue,  evi- 
dences, in  a  striking  manner,  the  brilliant  dawn  of 
those  splendid  talents  which,  while  yet  in  the  meridian 
of  life,  soon  lifted  him  to  the  highest  honors  of  public 
office,  and  gave  him  in  the  political  world  an  influence 
that  has  survived  his  death.  When  it  is  stated,  how- 
ever, that  these  superior  mental  endowments  were 
aided  by  a  rare  boldness  and  independence  of  character 
and  of  opinion,  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  account  for 
this  rapid  preferment. 

The  political  sentiments  of  Crawford  were  decidedly 
liberal,  and,  in  some  respects,  differed  widely  from 
those  which  have  been  promulged  and  advocated  as 
the  peculiar  tenets  of  the  Jefferson  school.  He  marked 
out  his  own  course,  and  pursued  his  own  conclusions, 
little  regardful  of  those  party  trammels  which  have 
generally  obtained  a  controlling  influence  with  prom- 
inent national  politicians.  Accordingly,  at  an  early 
period  after  his  entrance  into  the  Senate  of  the  United 
States,  he  joined  issue  with  William  B.  Giles,  of  Vir- 
ginia, the  veteran  debater  of  that  august  body,  and  the 
acknowledged  spokesman  of  the  Jefferson  Administra- 
tion. The  contest  was  on  the  Embargo  question ;  Giles 
earnestly  advocating  its  policy,  while  Crawford  opposed 
it  as  a  measure  fraught  with  mischief  and  distress,  and 
a  useless  and  unwise  preliminary  to  a  war  already  vir- 
tually begun,  and  which  was  clearly  inevitable.  Craw- 


144  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

ford  had  very  little  tolerance  for  concessions  and  dila- 
tory action,  in  a  cause  which  he  conceived  to  have 
been  closed  to  amicable  adjustment.  He  was  no  half- 
way man.  He  never  paused  to  compromise,  when  he 
could  see  his  way  to  a  favorable  result  by  risking  a  less 
indirect  procedure.  In  fact,  Crawford  was  in  favor  of 
declaring  war  from  the  moment  that  the  British  Gov- 
ernment refused  to  make  proper  amends  and  satisfac- 
tion for  the  unwarrantable  attack  of  the  Leopard  on 
the  Chesapeake,  off  the  harbor  of  Norfolk ;  and,  in 
after  years,  did  not  scruple  to  charge  Madison  with 
ambiguousness  on  the  point  of  war  or  peace  in  his  cele- 
brated message  of  1812,  characterizing  it  as  akin-  to 
the  sinuous  and  obscure  declarations  of  a  Delphic 
oracle. 

The  Embargo  was  •  the  darling  scheme,  along  with 
the  Non-intercourse  Act  of  1809,  of  the  Jefferson  and 
Madison  Administrations.  Crawford  was  thus  thrown 
into  an  attitude  of  partial  opposition  to  the  Democratic 
leaders  of  that  day,  although  far  indeed  removed  from 
any  fraternizing  sympathy  with  the  then  unprincipled 
and  rancorous  remnant  of  the  old  Federal  party.  From 
these  differences,  slight  as  they  were,  sprang  the  germs 
of  that  conservative,  national  party  which,  soon  gather- 
ing compactness  under  the  lead  of  Madison,  of  Clay, 
and  of  the  younger  Adams,  has  opposed,  ever  since,  a 
steady  and  unyielding  barrier,  amidst  varying  fortunes, 
to  the  unbridled  radicalism  of  Democracy,  as  also  to 
the  baneful  extremes  of  Federalism.  The  declaration 
of  war,  it  may  be  observed,  was  not  favored  by  Jeffer- 
son. With  him  the  milder  and,  as  he  thought,  scarcely 
less  effectual  remedy  of  spirited  retaliatory  measures, 
as  concerned  the  British  orders  in  Council  and  the 
French  decrees,  was  the  preferred  line  of  conduct. 
Madison,  long  his  warm  adherent  and  premier  cabinet 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 


145 


officer,  had:  his  doubts  and  his  difficulties.     The  multi- 
plied aggressions  of  the  British  Government  had,  in- 
deed, stirred  up  within  the  American  nation  fierce  and 
ominous  fires  of  resentment.     Still  they  perceived  that 
the  business  men  of  the  country  deprecated  hostilities. 
New  England  had  gone  quite  to  the  point  of  rebellion 
on  account  of  the  Embargo  and  restrictive  measures. 
She  was  now  loud  in  her  denunciations  of  war.     The 
commercial  cities  of  the  North  were  scarcely  less  recon- 
ciled to  the  commencement  of  hostilities  that  would 
certainly  depress  and  cripple  them.     The  cotton-plant- 
ers and  the  tobacco-growers  dreaded  the  ruinous  de- 
preciation in  the  then  high  price  of  their  staple  pro- 
ductions, which  was  sure  to  result  from  a  declaration 
of  war.     The  Federalists,  rejoiced  to  take  hold  of  aught 
that  might  offer  to  prop  their  sinking  fortunes,  or  to 
worry  their   exultant   opponents,   harangued  bitterly 
against  the  rupture  of  peaceful  relations  with  England, 
and  bullyingly  defied  those  who  advocated  the  last  re- 
sort.    The  Democrats  hesitated ;  and  although  Madi- 
son  afterwards  broke  through  these  procrastinating 
counsels,  and  staked  his  administration  on  the  issue  of 
the  war,  yet  there  was  a  time  when  his  delay  had  called 
forth  no  light  reprehension  from  those  of  his  political 
friends  who  coincided  with   Crawford.     His  decision 
lost  him  some  friends  and  gamed  him  legions  of  ma- 
lignant enemies ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  it  operated  to 
change  wholly  the  original  complexion  of  the  Jeffer- 
sonian  Democracy,  and  gave  vitality  and  impulse  to  a 
third  party,  which  had  suddenly  emerged  from  the 
chaotic  political  elements,  under  the  bold  lead  of  Wil- 
liam Harris  Crawford.     But  in  1811  the  transition  had 
been  powerfully  aided  by  the  position  which  had  been 
taken  by  Crawford  and  his  Republican  friends  with 
regard  to  the  question  of  rechartering  the  Bank  of  the 
7 


148  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

ture  and  approval,  .with  a  decent  respect  to  the  sharp 
conflicts  of  opinion  among  his  friends,  demanded  an 
opinion  from  each  of  his  four  ministers.  Three  of 
them,  at  his  request,  reduced  their  ideas  to  writing. 
Knox,  who  was  a  poor  hand  with  the  pen,  gave  his  in 
conversation,  and  they  were  found  to  coincide  with 
those  of  Hamilton.  The  Attorney-General,  Randolph, 
sided  with  Jefferson  in  an  unqualified  opposition  to  the 
scheme.  How  far  the  personal  animosities  and  differ- 
ences of  the  two  Secretaries  may  have  affected  this 
great  public  interest,  may  never  be  known.  At  all 
events,  Washington  decided  according  to  the  views  of 
Hamilton,  and  signed  the  charter.  He  carried  along 
with  him  a  sufficiency  of  the  Republican  influence  to 
rescue  the  scheme  from  the  odium  of  an  extreme  Fed- 
eral measure  ;  and  thus  the  question  had  rested  from 
1791  to  1811. 

At  this  session^  to  the  confusion  and  dismay  of  the 
ultra  Democracy,  the  friends  of  the  Bank  again  entered 
the  arena,  and  applied  for  a  renewal  of  its  charter,  un- 
der the  advice  and  lead  of  Crawford.  Crawford  had 
not  taken  his  position  inconsiderately  or  unwarily.  He 
was,  in  his  sentiments,  a  firm  Republican  and  supporter, 
in  the  mam,  of  the  Jefferson  and  Madison  administra- 
tions. But  his  mind  was  of  too  comprehensive  and  ac- 
tive a  cast  to  be  fettered  by  narrow  party  ties,  when 
reason  and  experience  pointed  to  a  useful  result.  In 
tracing  the  history  of  banking  institutions,  he  was 
doubtless  forcibly  struck  with  the  fact  that  they  had 
found  admission  and  patronage  among  the  principal 
and  most  enlightened  commercial  nations;  that  they 
had  successively  obtained  in  Italy,  Germany,  Holland, 
England,  and  France,  as  well  as  in  the  United  States ; 
and  that,  after  a  candid  estimate  of  their  tendency  and 
an  experience  of  centuries,  there  existed  not  a  doubt 


WILLIAM   H.   CRAWFORD.  l49 

about  their  utility  in  the  countries  where  they  had 
been  so  long  established  and  so  fairly  tried.  Wherever 
they  had  been  created  and  properly  sustained,  industry 
and  trade  had  been  indebted  to  them  for  thrift  and 
important  aid,  and  Government  repeatedly  under  the 
greatest  obligations  to  them  in  dangerous  or  distressing 
emergencies.  In  reviewing  the  history  of  the  Bank  of 
the  United  States,  he  found  that  the  greatest  amount 
of  good  had  followed  its  establishment,  and  that  for 
twenty  years  every  department  of  industry,  as  well  as 
of  government,  had  received  timely  aid  and  advantages 
from  its  beneficent  operations.  These  facts  weighed 
heavily  with  one  of  his  eminently  practical  constitution, 
whose  mind,  directed  always  to  great  and  standard 
measures,  was  wholly  incapable  of  being  dwarfed  to  the 
pitiful  dimensions  of  insane  factious  opposition,  and  was 
impervious  alike  to  the  threats  or  the  allurements  of 
sectarian  predilections.  He  decided  promptly  on  his 
course  of  action,  and  determined  to  advocate  the  re- 
newal of  the  expired  charter  openly  and  zealously. 
With  him  were  ranged  Albert  Gallatin,  Secretary  of 
the  Treasury,  Pope,  the  Senator  from  Kentucky,  and 
some  few  more  distinguished  Democrats  or  Republi- 
cans. But  against  him  there  appeared  a  formidable  host 
of  talents  and  influence,  and  the  entire  prejudices  of  the 
Jeffersonian  sect.  The  principal  of  these  opponents 
were  Smith  of  Maryland,  and  Henry  Clay,  the  Senato- 
rial -colleague  of  Mr.  Pope.  William  B.  Giles  sided 
with  the  opposition,  but  made  a  speech  so  rambling 
and  tortuous  as  to  leave  his  opinions  on  the  main  ques- 
tion well  nigh  undefined,  and  which  his  then  coadjutor, 
Clay,  wittily  characterized  as  having  "  discussed  both 
sides  of  the  question  with  great  ability,  and  as  having 
demonstrated  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  who  heard  him, 
both  that  it  was  constitutional  and  unconstitutional, 


150  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

highly  proper  and  improper  to  prolong  the  charter  of 
the  Bank." 

Crawford  was  chairman  of  the  committee  to  whom 
the  application  of  the  stockholders,  praying  Congress 
to  renew  the  charter  of  the  Bank,  had  been  referred. 
He  applied  himself  to  the  duties  of  his  station  with  an 
ardor  that  showed  his  disregard  of  party  associations 
where  the  public  good  was  concerned,  and  with  a  zeal 
and  fidelity  that  eminently  evinced  the  depth  and  sin- 
cerity of  his  convictions.  He  fortified  his  cause  and 
himself  with  every  necessary  extrinsic  aid;  took  the 
elaborated  opinion  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury ; 
and  consulted  extensively  with  deputations  from  the 
commercial  and  industrial  interests  of  the  great  sections 
of  the  Confederacy.  But  the  mastery  of  extrinsic  facts 
did  not  alone  serve  to  fit  him  for  the  ensuing  struggle. 
The  benefits  arising  from  the  establishment  and  con- 
tinuance of  the  Bank  were  unquestionable.  The  neces- 
sity and  expediency  of  renewing  the  charter  could  not 
be  successfully  controverted.  The  battle  had  to  be 
fought  on  the  ramparts  of  the  Constitution,  and  of  this 
Crawford  was  fully  aware.  He  had  calculated  that  the 
opposition  would  direct  their  main  efforts  against  the 
constitutionality  of  the  measure,  and  thus  drive  the  pe- 
titioners out  of  Congress  without  allowing  them  to 
bring  in  their  array  of  popular  evidence  and  convincing 
facts.  But  he  had  prepared  to  meet  them  at  the  very 
threshold,  and  armed  himself  with  a  panoply  of  reason 
and  argument  which,  supported  by  unquestioned  au- 
thority, effectually  dislodged  his  adversaries  from  their 
defiant  position,  and  threw  them  at  once  on  the  defen- 
sive. He  courted,  and  evidently  desired  them  to  at- 
tack ;  but,  failing  in  this,  he  was  nevertheless  fully  pre- 
pared to  assume  the  offensive. 

On  the  5th  of  February  the  report  of  the  Commit- 


WILLIAM  H.    CRAWFORD.  151 

tee  had  been  made  to  the  Senate,  and  a  majority  con- 
curred in  the  motion  to  accompany  the  same  with  a 
bill  to  extend  the  expired  charter  of  the  Bank.  The 
bill  was  subjected  to  some  amendments,  and  its  con- 
sideration postponed  for  one  week.  On  the  morning 
of  the  12th,  Mr.  Anderson,  of  Tennessee,  moved  to 
strike  out  the  first  section,  but  declined  giving  any 
reasons  in  support  of  his  motion,  on  the  ground  that 
the  question  had  been  doubtless  already  decided,  in  the 
mind  of  every  Senator,  as  of  every  man  in  the  nation. 
This  course  at  once  unfolded  the  policy  of  the  opposi- 
tion. Crawford  easily  perceived  that,  confident  of 
numerical  strength,  they  had  decided  either  to  provoke 
assault,  or  else  quietly  to  demolish  the  bill  section  by 
section.  He  replied  to  Anderson,  by  observing  that 
such  a  method  of  dispatching  business  was  novel  and 
astonishing ;  that  a  bill  had  been  presented  to  the 
Senate  to  continue  the  operation  of  an  institution  of 
twenty  years'  standing,  whose  good  effects  were  uni- 
versally admitted,  and  whose  influence  on  the  public 
prosperity  was  not  to  be  denied ;  and  yet,  in  place  of 
giving  any  reason  against  the  continuance,  the  Senate 
was  told  that  public  sentiment  had  decided  the  ques- 
tion. He  appealed  to  the  mover  if  this  was  a  fair  and 
magnanimous  mode  of  procedure  ?  How  was  it  possi- 
ble, he  asked,  foj*  the  friends  of  the  bill  to  meet  objec- 
tions never  made  ?  When  a  question  of  such  magni- 
tude was  to  be  decided,  he  contended  that  it  was 
proper  to  offer  some  reasons  why  the  bill  should  be 
rejected.  It  was  answered  by  General  Smith,  that 
there  was  nothing  novel  in  the  course  suggested  by 
the  Senator  from  Tennessee ;  that  it  was  parliamentary 
to  make  such  motion ;  and  that  it  always  became  the 
introducer  of  a  bill  to  give  some  reasons  to  induce  the 


152  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFOKD. 

Senate  to  give  the  same  its  support.  Anderson  con- 
curred, and  again  repeated  his  former  motion. 

Crawford  promptly  rejoined.  He  intimated  that 
his  remarks  had  been  misconceived ;  that  he  made  no 
complaint  against  the  motion  ;  but  that  it  was  not 
usual  in  any  deliberative  body  that  a  chairman  should 
be  called  on  to  state  the  reasons  which  induced  a  com- 
mittee to  report  any  provision  to  a  bill,  when  a  motion 
was  made  which  went  to  put  an  end  to  any  discussion 
of  the  detail.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  were  about  to 
defeat  the  bill,  and  it  was  fair  that  they  should  assign 
their  reasons.  How  could  he  foresee  their  objections  ? 
Or  if,  perchance,  he  should  foresee  and  answer  them, 
would  not  gentlemen  say  that  such  were  not  the  rea- 
sons which  influenced  their  votes  ?  It  was  like  pur- 
suing a  will-o'-the-wisp — you  can  never  arrive  at  the 
true  object  of  pursuit." 

He  was  again  answered  by  Gen.  Smith,  that  it  was 
always  the  duty  of  a  committee  to  inform  the  Senate 
of  the  reasons  which  induced  them  to  report  a  bill ; 
that  it  was  expected  by  himself  and  others,  that  the 
chairman  would  favor  them  with  an  argument  to  induce 
their  support  of  the  bill,  and  that  then  he  might  con- 
sider of  his  duty  in  making  answer. 

This  last  rejoinder  fully  exposed  the  plan  of  action 
which  had  been  agreed  on  by  the  opponents  of  the  bill. 
It  was  clear  that  they  did  not  intend  to  take  the  initia- 
tive in  discussion,  and  Crawford  persisted  in  his  en- 
dc:ivor  to  provoke  assault  no  longer.  -He  asked  for  no 
postponement,  he  craved  no  further  time  for  prepara 
tion,  but  proceeded  forthwith,  and  to  the  surprise  of 
the  opposition,  to  deliver  his  views  in  a  speech  which, 
ibr  vigor  and  originality  of  thought,  cogency  of  argu- 
ment, and  power  of  intellectual  research,  has  never 
been  surpassed  in  any  parliamentary  body,  and  which 


WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFORD.  153 

fixed  his  claims  to  greatness.  He  begins  by  boldly 
laying  down  the  premise  that  the  Federal  Constitution 
had  been  so  much  construed  as  if  it  were  perfect,  that 
many  of  its  best  features  were  about  to  be  rendered 
imbecile,  and  that  prejudice  was  thus  tending  to  ac- 
tually destroy  the  obje«t  of  affettion ;  that  when  this 
was  carried  so  far  as  to  endanger  the  public  welfare,  it 
was  necessary  that  its  imperfections  should  be  disclosed 
to  public  view ;  which  disclosure,  while  it  might  cause 
the  adoration  to  cease,  would  not,  therefore,  necessarily 
place  the  Constitution  beyond  the  reach  of  ardent  at- 
tachment. He  follows  up  this  startling  declaration 
with  a  severe  analysis  of  the  Constitution,  to  prove  its 
force ;  showing  that  the  very  numerous  incidentalisms 
which  appertain  to  its  express  grants  of  power,  clearly 
demonstrate  the  fallibility  of  the  instrument,  with  all 
its  just  claims  to  our  respect  and  deep  veneration. 
After  going  through  thus  with  the  entire  list  of  the 
specified  powers  of  Congress,  adroitly  using  each  to 
illustrate  his  premise,  he  finally  seizes  on  the  fourth 
article  of  the  Constitution  to  prove  "  the  absurdity," 
as  well  of  the  idea  of  its  perfection,  as  of  the  construc- 
tion that  the  enumeration  of  certain  powers  excludes 
all  other  powers  not  enumerated.  His  method  of  rea- 
soning this  point  is  so  novel,  so  interesting,  and  so  re- 
sistlessly  convictive,  that  we  shall  venture  to  transcribe 
the  portion  which  embraces  this  head  of  his  speech. 

"  This  article,"  he  says,  "  appears  to  be  of  a  miscellaneous  charac- 
ter, and  very  similar  to  the  codicil  of  a  will.  The  first  article  pro- 
vides for  the  organization  of  Congress ;  defines  its  powers ;  prescribes 
limitations  on  the  powers  previously  granted ;  and  sets  metes  and 
bounds  to  the  authority  of  the  State  Governments.  The  second  arti- 
cle provides  for  the  organization  of  the  Executive  Department,  and 
defines  its  power  and  duty.  The  third  article  defines  the  tenure  by 
which  the  persons  in  whom  the  judicial  power  may  be  vested  shall 

7* 


154  WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOED. 

hold  their  offices,  and  prescribes  the  extent  of  their  power  and  juris- 
diction. These  three  articles  provide  for  the  three  great  departments 
of  government,  called  into  existence  by  the  Constitution ;  but  some 
other  provisions  just  then  occur,  which  ought  to  have  been  included  in 
one  or  the  other  of  the  three  preceding  articles,  and  these  provisions 
are  incorporated  and  compose  the  fourth  article.  The  first  section  of 
it  declares,  that  '  full  faith  and  credit  shall  be  given,  in  each  State,  to 
the  public  acts,  records,  and  judicial  proceedings  of  every  other  State ; 
and  the  Congress  may,  by  general  laws,  prescribe  the  manner  in  which 
such  acts,  records,  and  proceedings  shall  be  proved,  and  the  effect 
thereof.'  In  the  second  section  it  declares  that  a  person  charged,  in 
any  State,  with  treason,  felony,  or  other  crime,  who  shall  flee  from 
justice,  and  be  found  in  another  State,  '  shall,  on  demand  of  the  ex- 
ecutive authority  of  the  State  from  which  he  fled,  be  delivered  up,  to 
be  removed  to  the  State  having  jurisdiction  of  the  crime.'  A  similar 
provision  is  contained  in  the  same  section,  relative  to  fugitives  who 
are  bound  to  labor,  by  the  laws  of  any  State.  In  the  first  case  which 
has  been  selected,  express  authority  has  been  given  to  Congress  to 
prescribe  the  manner  in  which  the  records,  &c.,  should  be  proved,  and 
also  the  effect  thereof;  but,  in  the  other  two,  no  authority  has  been 
given  to  Congress ;  and  yet  the  bare  inspection  of  the  three  cases  will 
prove  that  the  interference  of  Congress  is  less  necessary  in  the  first 
than  in  the  two  remaining  cases.  A  record  must  always  be  proved 
by  itself,  because  it  is  the  highest  evidence  of  which  the  case  admits. 
The  effect  of  a  record  ought  to  depend  upon  the  laws  of  the  State  of 
which  it  is  a  record,  and  therefore  the  power  to  prescribe  the  effect  of 
a  record  was  wholly  unnecessary,  and  has  been  so  held  by  Congress 
— no  law  having  been  passed  to  prescribe  the  effect  of  a  record.  In 
the  second  case  there  seems  to  be  some  apparent  reason  for  passing  a 
law  to  ascertain  the  officer  upon  whom  the  demand  is  to  be  made ; 
what  evidence  of  the  identity  of  the  person  demanded,  and  of  the  guilt 
of  the  party  charged,  must  be  produced,  before  the  obligation  to  de- 
liver shall  be  complete.  The  same  apparent  reason  exists  for  the 
passage  of  a  law  relative  to  fugitives  from  labor.  According,  how- 
ever, to  the  rule  of  construction  contended  for,  Congress  cannot  pass 
any  law  to  cany  the  Constitution  into  effect  in  the  two  last  cases  se- 
lected, because  express  power  has  been  given  in  the  first,  and  is  with- 
held in  the  two  last.  But  Congress  has  nevertheless  passed  laws  to 
carry  those  provisions  into  effect,  and  this  exercise  of  power  has  never 
been  complained  of  by  the  people  or  the  States." 


WILLIAM:  H.  CRAWFOKD.  155 

The  speech  then  proceeds  with  an  able  argument  to 
prove  that  there  must  necessarily  exist,  in  the  Consti- 
tution, powers  derivable  from  implication.  He  con- 
tends that  it  is  only  by  implication  that  Congress  ex- 
ercises the  power  to  establish  a  Supreme  Court,  because 
the  express  grant  is  limited,  as  concerns  the  action  of 
Congress,  only  to  the  creation  of  "  inferior  tribunals." 
Thus,  he  argues,  is  derived  the  sole  power  to  accept  or 
purchase  places  for  the  erection  of  forts,  magazines, 
dockyards,  and  arsenals;  as  also  the  pow^r  to  build 
light-houses,  and  to  legislate  for  the  support  of  the 
same.  These  all  being  clearly  implied  powers,  and 
having  never  excited  complaint  when  exercised  by 
Congress,  he  maintains  that  the  same  ancient  and 
thoroughly  settled  rule  of  construction  will  leave  Con- 
gress with  the  power  to  create  a  Bank,  derivable  from 
the  clause  which  gives  the  power  "  to  lay  and  collect 
taxes,  duties,  imposts,  and  excises."  He  argues : — 

"  A  law  to  erect  light-Houses  is  no  more  a  law  to  regulate  com- 
merce, than  a  law  creating  a  Bank  is  a  law  to  collect  taxes,  duties, 
and  imposts.  But  the  erection  of  light-houses  tends  to  facilitate  and 
promote  the  security  and  prosperity  of  commerce,  and,  in  an  equal 
degree,  the  erection  of  a  Bank  tends  to  facilitate  and  insure  the  col- 
lection, safe-keeping,  and  transmission  of  revenue.  If,  by  this  rule 
of  construction,  which  is  applied  to  light-houses,  but  denied  to  the 
Bank,  Congress  can,  as  incidental  to  the  power  to  regulate  commerce, 
erect  light-houses,  it  will  be  easy  to  show  that  the  same  right  may  be 
exercised  as  incidental  to  the  power  of  laying  and  collecting  duties 
aud  imposts.  Duties  cannot  be  collected,  unless  vessels  importing 
dutiable  merchandise  arrive  in  port ;  whatever,  therefore,  tends  to 
secure  their  safe  arrival  may  be  exercised  under  that  general  power  : 
the  erection  of  light-houses  does  facilitate  the  safe  arrival  of  vessels  in 
port ;  and  Congress  can,  therefore,  exercise  this  right  as  incidental  to 
the  power  to  lay  imposts  and  duties.." 

Pursuing  this  course  of  syllogism  and  logical  de- 
duction, he  goes  on  to  argue  that  the  creation  of  a 


156  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

Bank  is  necessary  and  proper,  as  the  very  best  means 
to  collect,  safely  keep,  and  disburse  the  public  revenue ; 
not  because  the  National  Government  is  actually  de- 
pendent on  a  Bank,  but  that  it  is  materially  aided  by  a 
Bank,  and  that  it  must,  therefore,  be  a  constitutional 
agent  indirectly  or  impliedly  contemplated  as  necessary. 
Adverting  to  the  idea  that  the*  States  have  reserved  to 
themselves  the  exclusive  right  of  erecting  Banks,  he 
boldly  promulges  the  doctrine  that,  so  far  from  such 
power  having  been  reserved,  the  States  are  actually 
prohibited  by  the  Constitution  from  exercising  this 
power.  He  says : — 

"  In  the  tenth  section  of  the  first  article  of  the  Constitution,  it  is 
declared,  among  other  things,  that  no  State  shall  coin  money,  emit 
bills  of  credit,  or  make  any  thing  hut  gold  and  silver  a  tender  in  pay- 
ment of  dehts.  What,  sir,  is  a  hill  of  credit  ?  Will  it  he  contended 
that  a  hank  hill  is  not  a  bill  of  credit  ?  They  are  emphatically  bills 
of  credit.  But  it  may  be  said  that  the  States  do  not,  by  the  creation 
of  banks,  with  authority  to  emit  bills  of  credit,  infringe  upon  the  Con- 
stitution, because  they  do  not  emit  the  bills  themselves.  If  they  have 
not  the  power  to  emit  bills  of  credit,  d  fortiori,  they  cannot  delegate 
to  others  a  power  which  they  themselves  cannot  exercise.  But,  sir, 
according  to  the  maxims  of  law  and  sound  reason,  what  they  do  by 
another,  they  do  themselves. " 

Leaving  the  field  of  solid  constitutional  argument, 
the  speaker  next  proceeds  to  discuss  his  proposition 
with  reference  to  its  alleged  party  connections,  and, 
incidentally,  as  regards  the  competency  of  a  State  Gov- 
ernment to  resist  the  establishment,  within  its  limits, 
of  a  branch  of  the  United  States  Bank.  At  the  time 
that  the  constructive  rules  obtained  which  authorize 
the  erection  of  a  Bank  as  the  fiscal  agent  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, he  contends  that  party,  in  its  present  sense, 
was  unknown ;  that  the  Constitution  itself  was  just 
framed,  and  not  beyond  the  influence  of  unquestioned 


WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD.  157 

first  impressions ;  and  that  the  Bank  had  then  been 
sanctioned  by  the  best  authorities,  and  in  the  best  days 
of  the  Republic.  After  contrasting  those  purer  times 
with  the  rancorous  scenes  in  which  he  was  then  mix- 
ing ;  denouncing  the  intolerance  and  vindictiveness  of 
the  then  "  Democratic  presses  ;"  and  protesting  against 
the  illegal  interference  of  certain  "  great  States  "  with 
the  regular  operations  of  Congress,  he  gives  vent  to 
the  following  splendid  philippic  : — 

"  The  Democratic  presses  have,  for  more  than  twelve  months 
past,  teemed  with  the  most  scurrilous  abuse  against  every  member  of 
Congress  who  has  dared  to  utter  a  syllable  in  favor  of  the  renewal  of 
the  Bank  charter.  The  member  who  dares  to  give  his  opinion  in 
favor  of  the  renewal  of  the  charter,  is  instantly  charged  with  being 
bribed  by  the  agents  of  the  Bank — with  being  corrupt — with  having 
trampled  upon  the  rights  and  liberties  of  the  people — with  having  sold 
the  sovereignty  of  the  United  States  to  foreign  capitalists — with  being 
guilty  of  perjury  by  having  violated  the  Constitution.  Yes,  sir,  these 
are  the  circumstances  under  which  we  are  called  to  reject  the  bill 
When  we  compare  the  circumstances  under  which  we  are  now  acting, 
with  those  which  existed  at  the  time  when  the  law  was  passed  to  in- 
corporate the  Bank,  we  may  well  distrust  our  own  judgment.  I  had 
always  thought,  sir,  that  a  corporation  was  an  artificial  body,  existing 
only  in  contemplation  of  law ;  but  if  we  can  believe  the  rantings  of 
our  Democratic  editors,  in  these  great  States,  and  the  denunciations 
of  our  public  declaimers,  it  exists  under  the  form  of  every  foul  and 
hateful  beast,  and  bird,  and  creeping  thing.  It  is  a  Hydra, ;  it  is  a 
Cerberus ;  it  is  a  Gorgon  ;  it  is  a  Vulture ;  it  is  a  Viper.  Yes,  sir,  in 
their  imaginations,  it  not  only  assumes  every  hideous  and  frightful 
form,  but  it  possesses  every  poisonous,  deleterious,  and  destructive 
quality.  Shall  we,  sir,  suffer  our  imaginations  to  be  alarmed,  and 
our  judgments  to  be  influenced  by  such  miserable  stuff?  Shall  we 
tamely  act  under  the  lash  of  this  tyranny  of  the  press  ?  No  man 
complains  of  the  discussion  in  the  newspapers  of  any  subject  which 
;omes  before  the  Legislature  of  the  Union ;  but  I  most  solemnly  pro- 
test against  the  course  which  has  been  pursued  by  these  editors  in  re- 
lation to  this  question.  Instead  of  reasoning  to  prove  the  unconsti- 
tutionally of  the  law,  they  charge  members  of  Congress  with  being 


158  WILLIAM  H.    CRAWFORD, 

bribed  or  corrupted ;  and  this  is  what  they  call  the  liberty  of  the 
press.  To  tyranny,  under  whatever  form  it  may  be  exercised,  I 
declare  open  and  interminable  war.  To  me  it  is  perfectly  indifferent 
whether  the  tyrant  is  an  irresponsible  editor,  or  a  despotic  monarch." 

But  Crawford  was  not  content  even  thus  to  rest  his 
case  on  the  solid  basis  of  primitive  republican  authority. 
Assuming  that  the  Democratic  or  regular  Jeffersonian 
party  were  opposed,  on  principle,  to  the  establishment 
of  a  Bank,  he  proves  that  their  public  acts  give  the  lie 
to  their  opinions,  inasmuch  as  this  same  party  indirectly 
sanctioned  the  Bank  by  establishing  a  branch  in  Louis- 
iana in  1804,  and,  in  1807,  by  passing  laws  to  punish 
offences  of  counterfeiting,  or  otherwise  improperly  in- 
terfering with  the  Bank  monopoly ;  and  this,  too,  with 
such  unanimity,  that  the  bill  glided  through  both 
Houses  without  a  call  of  the  yeas  and  nays  on  its  final 
passage,  or  any  of  its  intermediate  stages.  And  it  is 
under  this  head  of  the  speech  that,  speaking  of  the 
right  of  States  to  oppose  the  erection  of  branch  Banks 
within  their  borders,  we  find  the  following  emphatic 
and  unqualified  declaration  of  opinion  on  a  point  which, 
so  far  as  the  name  and  authority  of  our  distinguished 
subject  may  be  regarded,  must  startle  and  disconcert 
the  wild  secessionists  and  ultra  States'  rights  men  of 
the  present  critical  times : — 

"  Permit  me,  sir,  to  make  one  or  two  observations  upon  this  com- 
petency of  the  State  Governments  to  resist  the  authority  or  the  execu- 
tion of  a  law  of  Congress.  What  kind  of  resistance  can  they  make, 
which  is  constitutional  ?  I  know  of  but  one  kind— and  that  is  by  elec- 
tions. The  People,  and  the  States,  have  the  right  to  change  the 
members  of  the  National  Legislature,  and  in  that  way,  and  in  that 
alone,  can  they  effect  a  change  of  the  measures  of  this  Government. 
It  is  true,  there  is  another  kind  of  resistance  which  can  be  made,  but 
it  is  unknown  to  the  Constitution.  This  resistance  depends  upon  physi- 
cal force ;  it  is  an  appeal  to  the  sword ;  and  by  the  sword  must  that 
appeal  be  decided,  and  not  by  the  provisions  of  the  Constitution." 


WILLIAM   H.   CRAWFORD.  159 

After  a  concise  and  lucid  exposition  of  banking 
principles  as  illustrated  and  developed  in  connection 
with  the  history  of  many  of  the  States,  and  the  special 
benefits  to  be  derived  from  a  National  Bank,  the  dis- 
tinguished speaker,  towards  the  end  of  his  argument, 
notices  the  objection  raised  by  many  to  a  Bank,  because 
a  portion  of  the  stock  may  be  owned  by  foreign  capi- 
talists. Formidable  as  this  objection  may  at  first  seem, 
he  seizes  and  wields  it  as  an  affirmative  argument,  prov- 
ing that  what  has  been  so  generally  deemed  a  disas- 
trous policy,  is  really  an  advantage  to  the  country. 
He  argues  that  if,  by  investing  their  principal  means  in 
an  American  institution,  dependent  entirely  on  the  will 
of  the  American  Government,  and  existing  by  the  suf- 
ferance of  the  American  people,  foreigners  acquire  any 
influence  over  such  institution,  it  is  their  interest  to 
exert  the  same  in  our  favor.  A  country  hi  which  the 
capital  of  foreigners  is  employed,  and  whose  Govern- 
ment can,  at  any  moment,  lay  its  hands  on  the  same, 
must  of  necessity  possess  more  influence  with  these 
foreigners  than  they  possibly  can  over  us  or  to  our 
injury ;  besides  the  important  fact  that,  in  case  of  ap- 
prehended war  between  their  nation  and  ours,  self- 
interest  would  impel  them  to  exert  a  beneficial  influ- 
ence in  favor  of  that  which  holds  their  money. 

The  conclusion  of  this  finished  argument  is  worthy 
of  its  principal  features  and  main  body,  and  is  eminently 
characteristic  of  its  author  : — 


"  Sir,  we  have  the  experience  of  twenty  years  for  our  guide. 
During  that  lapse  of  years  your  finances  have  been,  through  the 
agency  of  this  Bank,  skilfully  and  successfully  managed.  During 
this  period,  the  improvement  of  the  country  and  the  prosperity  of  the 
nation  have  been  rapidly  progressing.  Why,  then,  should  we,  at  this 
perilous  and  momentous  crisis,  abandon  a  well-tried  system — faulty, 
perhaps,  in  the  detail,  but  sound  in  its  fundamental  principles  ?  Does 


160  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOKD. 

the  pride  of  opinion  revolt  at  the  idea  of  acquiescing  in  the  system  of 
your  political  opponents  ?  Come  !  and  with  me  sacrifice  your  pride 
and  political  resentments  at  the  shrine  of  political  good.  Let  them 
he  made  a  propitiatory  sacrifice  for  the  promotion  of  the  public  wel- 
fare, the  savor  of  which  will  ascend  to  heaven,  and  be  there  recorded 
as  a  lasting,  an  everlasting  evidence  of  your  devotion  to  the  happi- 
ness of  your  country." 

This  speech,  and  the  one  which  followed  a  few  days 
afterwards  from  the  same  source,  proved  to  be  unan- 
swerable in  every  respect.  Crawford  had  forestalled 
and  neutralized  the  whole  plan  of  argument  in  opposi- 
tion, both  within  and  without  the  pale  of  the  Constitu- 
tion. He  had  gone  over  the  whole  ground,  and  sur- 
veyed it  in  its  every  point,  before  he  engaged  in  the 
conflict  of  debate.  Consequently,  the  speeches  of  his 
opponents  which  followed  the  delivery  of  his  own,  are 
mostly  discursive  and  declamatory,  rarely  ever  argu- 
mentative. They  did  not  bring  forth  a  solitary  new 
objection,  although,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  the 
speakers  were  among  the  most  talented  men  of  the 
country.  Their  efforts  seemed  to  be  mainly  directed 
with  a  view  to  defeat  the  bill  by  conjuring  up  against 
it  long  dormant  party  prejudices,  and  to  enlist  all  the 
rabid  animosities  of  political  warfare.  And  so  irrefuta- 
bly had  Crawford  planted  his  positions,  that  even  Henry 
Clay,  with  his  spicy  variety  and  raciness,  was  forced  to 
the  unworthy  resort  of  meeting  argument  with  the 
usual  demagogical  appeal  to  the  lower  and  baser  preju- 
dices of  the  mind.  But,  at  the  same  time,  it  is  not  un- 
likely that  the  boldness  and  independence  displayed  by 
Crawford  on  this  occasion,  served  first  to  attract  and 
wean  him  from  the  ultra  Democracy  of  the  true  Jeffer- 
sonian  school,  and  to  direct  his  ardent  and  high-toned 
ambition  to  the  attainment  of  great  political  purposes 
and  ends,  which  rose  above  the  circumscribed  and  im- 


WILLIAM   II.    CEAWFORD.  161 

practicable  views  of  the  radical  sect  in  whose  opinions 
he  had  been  raised. 

The  discussion,  however,  was  not  altogether  of  a 
peaceful  and  quiet  character.  Most  of  the  opposition 
speakers,  aware  of  Crawford's  extreme  sensitiveness 
and  irascibility  of  temper,  were  careful  to  avoid  all  ex- 
ceptionable allusions  to  the  differences  of  opinion  which 
separated  him,  on  this  question,  from  the  main  body  of 
his  political  friends,  and  to  eschew  all  course  of  remark 
which  might  induce  unpleasant  personal  application. 
But  Whitesides,  a  Senator  from  Tennessee,  was  not  so 
prudent  and  forbearing,  and  declared,  in  the  course  of 
a  very  indifferent  speech,  that  members  of  the  Demo- 
cratic party  who  were  now  found  making  common 
cause  with  the  friends  of  the  Bank,  must  be  regarded 
as  political  apostates.  This  remark  stung  Crawford  to 
the  quick,  and  aroused  at  once  that  deep  sense  of  re- 
sentment which  possesses  all  spirited  persons  who  are 
conscious  of  honest  motives.  In  reply,  he  denounced 
the  use  of  such  language,  in  connection  with  a  member 
or  members  of  the  Senate,  as  indecorous  and  unbecom- 
ing ;  declaring  that  no  one  should,  without  the  walls 
of  the  chamber,  apply  such  to  him  with  impunity. 
Whitesides  attempted  to  exculpate  himself  by  an  ex- 
planation ;  but  explanation  had  then  been  offered  too 
late  to  restore  friendly  feeling.  He  did  not  deny  hav- 
ing used  the  expression,  and  Crawford  persisted  in  de- 
nouncing it  as  an  assertion  made  without  the  proof  to 
sustain  it,  and  which  was  plainly  contradicted  by  the 
record.  This  closed  all  doors  to  an  amicable  adjustr 
ment,  and,  so  far  as  appears,  Whitesides  made  a  merit 
of  submission  to  the  denunciation. 

It  is  known  that  the  bill,  reported  by  the  commit- 
tee, failed  to  pass  at  the  session  of  1811.  Crawford, 
therefore,  did  not  succeed  in  accomplishing  his  main 


162  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

object,  although  he  paved  the  way  for  a  resuscitation, 
at  a  future  session  of  Congress,  of  the  expired  charter, 
and  the  stand  he  had  taken  lent  a  support  to  the  Bank 
which  sustained  its  political  fortunes  through  many 
years  of  trials  and  struggles.  But  the  debate,  in  view 
of  the  previous  party  relations  of  those  who  participated 
in  it,  gave  rise  to  political  events  of  the  most  important 
and  permanent  character.  The  whole  project  of  the 
National  Bank  was  conceded  to  Federal  paternity. 
This  fact  at  once  arrayed  against  it  the  entire  forces  of 
the  Democratic  or  Jeffersonian  party,  and  among  these 
was  James  Madison,  then  President,  though  known  to 
be  less  attenuated  in  his  opinions  than  the  illustrious 
leader  and  founder  of  that  hide-bound  sect.  Crawford 
had  entered  the  Senate,  a  member  of  the  same  party, 
but,  as  we  have  seen,  crossed  swords  with  its  prominent 
champion,  on  a  vital  issue,  at  the  very  first  session. 
The  gap  thus  made  was  never  fairly  closed ;  and  al- 
though Crawford  was  reckoned  an  anti-Federalist  dur- 
ing his  entire  public  career,  it  is  yet  a  remarkable  feet 
that  he  never  acted  with  the  Democratic  party  on  any 
of  the  important  issues  at  stake.  When,  therefore,  in 
1811,  he  was  put  forward  as  the  leader  of  the  Bank 
party,  it  became  evident  that  a  confusion  of  parties, 
already  foreshadowed  in  1808,  must  speedily  ensue. 
The  main  body  of  the  Federal  party  gladly  followed 
his  lead.  The  prominent  liberal  Democrats  took  their 
stations  by  his  side.  At  the  session  of  1816,  the  Bank 
charter,  thus  aided  by  this  timely  co-operation  of  dissen- 
tient factions,  was  passed.  In  this  manner  a  third  party 
began  slowly  to  emerge  from  the  confusion;  for  the 
largest  portion  of  the  Federalists,  although  co-operating 
with  their  opponents  on  the  Bank  question,  had  marched 
off  under  the  anti-war  banner,  sheared,  however,  of  its 
brightest  ornaments,  and  of  its  most  patriotic  and  lib- 


WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOED.  163 

eral  members.  While,  then,  the  new  party  did  not  ab- 
sorb this  rancorous  phalanx,  their  ranks  were  soon 
swelled  by  important  accessions  from  the  Democratic 
fold.  Chief  among  these  was  President  Madison,  who, 
after  signing  the  Bank  charter,  became  its  hearty  and 
powerful  advocate,  and,  of  course,  approached  Craw- 
ford with  every  demonstration  of  confidence  and  politi- 
cal sympathy.  Clay  soon  followed,  and  publicly  an- 
nounced, as  he  has  repeatedly  done  since,  his  entire 
change  of  opinion  on  the  Bank  question ;  while,  on  the 
floor  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  Calhoun  himself 
was  recognized  as  the  prime  mover  and  leader  of  those 
who  favored  the  re-establishment  of  the  Bank. 

These  events  gave  birth  to  the  Whig  party,  which, 
soon  gathering  compactness  and  strength,  has  exercised 
great  influence  in  the  political  world  from  that  day  to 
the  present.  Men  may  since  have  changed,  and  run 
the  gauntlet  of  political  tergiversations  ;  but  the  party 
is  essentially  the  same,  and  at  its  head  may  still  be  re- 
cognized many  who  were  principal  actors  in  its  original 
formation. 

It  is  painful  to  pause,  at  this  interesting  period  of 
Crawford's  political  history,  to  record  the  unwelcome 
fact  that  his  opinion,  as  concerned  the  constitutional 
power  of  Congress  to  charter  a  Bank,  underwent  in 
his  latter  life  an  entire  change.  His  great  speech  in 
support  of  the  Bank  had  not  been  successfully  answered 
at  the  time  of  its  delivery.  It  gave  birth  to  an  influ- 
ence that  shortly  afterwards  created  the  elements  of  a 
new  party  organization,  converted  to  its  opinions  many 
of  the  most  distinguished  of  the  Bank  opponents,  and 
brought  about  a  train  of  legislation  that  established  the 
Bank  as  one  of  the  cardinal  means  of  carrying  into 
effect  the  granted  powers  of  Congress.  This  legislation 
remained  unaltered,  and  almost  undisturbed,  for  nearly 


164  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

twenty  years  after  the  charter  of  1816,  during  which 
time  the  Bank  had  faithfully  and  correctly  transacted 
all  the  fiscal  business  of  the  Government ;  and  at  last 
its  political  fortune  had  only  gone  down  before  the 
selfish  animosities  of  jealous  politicians,  and  the  indom- 
itable will  of  an  equally  implacable  and  intolerant  party 
chieftain.  During  all  this  long  period  Crawford  was 
alive,  in  retirement,  at  his  rural  seat  of  Woodlawn. 
His  Bank  speeches,  if  they  had  not  made  for  him  all  the 
political  consequence  he  ever  enjoyed,  had  at  least  first 
introduced  him  to  the  nation,  and  laid  the  foundation 
of  his  greatness.  The  fruits  of  his  bold  exertions  and 
labors  were  manifested  on  all  sides,  and  in  every  quar- 
ter of  the  Union,  by  an  unparalleled  progress  of  general 
prosperity.  He  had  made  the  Bank  a  favorite  with  the 
nation,  and,  in  the  outset  of  his  brilliant  career,  had 
staked  his  fortunes  on  its  single  issue.  Long  years 
rolled  away,  and  his  fame  became  identified  with  this 
first  object  of  his  public  devotion.  But  time,  which 
had  developed  the  full  scope  of  his  policy,  verified  his 
expectations  and  predictions,  and  crowned  his  efforts 
with  unsurpassed  success,  had  touched  him  with  a 
heavy  and  blighting  hand.  Disease  had  made  rapid 
encroachments,  and  dealt  him  a  blow  from  which  he 
never  recovered.  Artful  and  unprincipled  men,  seek- 
ing his  confidence  under  the  guise  of  friendship,  had 
abused  his  weaknesses  and  inveigled  him  in  unpleasant 
personal  controversies,  which  subjected  him  to  the 
merciless  assaults  of  ancient  political  enemies  whose 
rancor  he  had  been  led  to  provoke,  and  which  grew  to 
be  too  serious,  too  bitter,  and  too  intricate  in  their  final 
connections,  not  to  dislodge  an  equanimity  which, 
never  very  settled,  had  now  been  so  severely  ruffled  by 
disease.  It  so  happened,  too,  that  Clay  and  Calhoun, 
with  whom  he  was  then  so  fiercely  engaged,  and  origi- 


WILLIAM  H.   CRAWFORD.  165 

nally  his  opponents  on  the  Bank  question,  had  become 
of  late  the  peculiar  friends  and  guardians  of  the  Bank 
interests.  It  is  not,  therefore,  surprising  that,  under 
such  circumstances,  he  should  have  been  dispossessed 
of  his  calm  judgment  and  discretion — especially  when 
it  is  further  considered  that  the  varying  tide  of  politics 
had  thrown  him  alongside  of  those  who  were  moving 
their  whole  official  and  personal  influence  to  the  de- 
struction of  the  United  States  Bank. 

It  was  at  such  a  time,  and  in  the  midst  of  such  ex- 
citing events,  that  the  world  heard  first  of  Crawford's 
change  of  opinion  on  this  question.  It  occurred  just 
before  the  close  of  his  life,  and  after  he  had  been  in 
close  retirement  for  more  than  seven  years,  during 
which  time  the  whole  complexion  of  parties  and  of 
politics  had  undergone  a  change,  leaving  no  outward 
discernible  marks  of  the  eventful  era  in  which  he  had 
figured.  His  immediate  circle  of  intimate  and  confi- 
dential friends  were  all  opposed  to  a  Bank.  A  distin- 
guished member  of  Congress  from  Georgia,  his  early 
friend  and  political  follower,  was  leading  opposition  to 
the  Bank  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  and  against 
him,  in  favor  of  the  Bank,  was  arrayed  the  entire  Sonth 
Carolina  influence,  headed  by  McDuffie,  who  had  just 
publicly  assailed  Crawford's  veracity  on  a  delicate  and 
important  point.  Thus  was  presented  to  him  the  un- 
welcome spectacle  of  enemies  sheltering  themselves  from 
overthrow  behind  the  solid  ramparts  of  his  own  previous 
opinions,  while  his  friends  were  being  daily  confused 
and  driven  off  by  the  exhibition  of  this  proof  armor 
which  himself  had  forged.  It  would  be  attributing  to 
him  more  than  human  endowments  to  suppose  that 
these  facts  did  not  materially  influence  the  apparent 
change  of  opinion  to  which  we  have  adverted. 

About  this  time,  as  our  information  unfolds,  Craw- 


166  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFORD. 

ford,  in  his  capacity  of  Circuit  Judge,  went  over  to  the 
county  of  Elbert  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  semi- 
annual term  of  its  court.  He  staid  there  over  night, 
as  had  long  been  his  custom,  with  an  ancient  and  confi- 
dential friend,  himself  an  active  and  zealous  politician. 
Conversation  turned  on  the  proceedings  of  Congress, 
as  regarded  the  Bank,  and,  incidentally,  concerning  his 
own  former  political  relations  with  that  institution. 
During  its  progress,  the  host  adverted  to  a  copy  of  the 
debates,  in  his  possession,  on  the  formation  of  the  Fed- 
eral Constitution,  and  its  adoption  by  the  States.  The 
book  was  placed  in  Crawford's  possession ;  and  then  it 
was  that  recently  engendered  prejudice  found,  as  it 
was  thought,  a  genial  and  strong  covert  behind  which 
to  plant  and  sustain  the  change  of  opinion  so  much  de- 
sired by  friends,  incautiously  excited,  and  perhaps  so 
long  meditated  by  the  veteran  statesman  himself. 
These  debates  show,  among  other  things,  that  the 
framers  of  the  Constitution  failed  to  pass  a  resolve  giv- 
ing to  Congress  the  express  power  of  chartering  corpo- 
rations. The  importunities  of  friends,  powerfully  aided 
by  the  very  natural  bias  of  personal  resentments,  in- 
duced him  to  seize  on  this  as  the  pretext  for  a  change ; 
and  as  conviction  is  not  difficult  where  inclination  leads 
the  way,  the  change  was  easily  accomplished  and  was 
soon  announced.  This  account  of  so  strange  a  revulsion 
of  opinion,  once,  in  the  zenith  of  intellect  and  of  life, 
deeply  entertained  and  cherished,  is  fully  confirmed 
both  by  his  own  pithy  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  Savan- 
nah Republican,  and  by  the  admission  of  Mr.  Dudley 
in  the  sketch  to  which  we  have  elsewhere  briefly  ad- 
verted. It  is  an  account  well  worthy  of  a  nice  and 
scrutinous  observation ;  and  we  should  scarcely  deem 
our  task  to  be  fairly  fulfilled  did  we  not  address  an 
effort  to  that  effect.  The  justice  of  history  requires, 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFOBD.  167 

especially  at  the  hand  of  impartial  and  candid  review- 
ers, to  be  fully  vindicated  in  connection  with  one  whose 
opinions  will  inevitably  exercise  great  influence  with 
the  future  generations  of  the  Republic-,  as  they  have 
eminently  done  with  those  of  his  own  times. 

It  is  true  that  the  Convention  of  1787  failed  to  en- 
graft within  the  express  powers  of  the  Federal  Consti- 
tution the  power  of  chartering  corporations.  But  it  is 
equally  true  that  a  proposition  to  invest  Congress  with 
the  direct  power  of  erecting  forts,  arsenals,  and  dock- 
yards, also  failed.*  And  yet  Congress  has  always  exer- 
cised, and  must  continue  to  exercise  both  powers.  The 
principle  of  implication  reaches  and  covers  both  cases, 
and  we  contend  that  Crawford's  own  argument,  to 
prove  the  existence  of  implied  powers,  is  irrefutable. 
The  context  and  tone  of  the  Constitution  tend  clearly 
to  show  that  only  general  and  cardinal  powers  were 
intended  to  be  expressly  granted;  for  to  have  bur- 
thened  a  written  form  of  government  with  the  distinct 
recitation  of  every  grant  necessary  to  put  in  operation 
the  whole  machinery  of  legislation,  would  have  been  to 
swell  the  present  admirable  limits  of  the  Constitution 
into  crude,  indigestible,  and  impracticable  dimensions ; 
would  have  sheared  it  of  that  remarkable  simplicity 
and  comprehensiveness  which  render  it  so  accessible 
and  practical,  and  would  have  entailed  upon  the  coun- 
try a  tome  of  Institutes  or  Pandects  as  intricate  as 
those  of  Justinian,  instead  of  establishing  a  constitution 
as  the  fountain  from  which  to  draw  all  proper  laws. 
The  grant  "  to  regulate  commerce "  is  an  elementary 
and  cardinal  grant  of  power,  and  needs  to  be  amplified 
by  all  proper  species  of  legislation  tending  to  promote 
the  ends  of  commerce,  in  order  that  it  may  be  rendered 

*  Viz.,  in  the  rejection  of  Pinkney's  draft.  The  power  was  after- 
wards made  an  incidental  one. 


168  WILLIAM   H.   CRAWFORD. 

tangible  and  operative.  So  also  with  the  power  "  to 
establish  post-offices."  A  post-office  would  not  be  de- 
sirable without  the  supervision  of  a  postmaster;  and 
this  officer,  by  the  will  of  Congress  acting  under  the 
implied  power  drawn  from  this  clause,  is  appointed  by 
the  Executive  or  his  Cabinet.  These  two  instances  are 
sufficient  to  show  the  nature  and  character  of  the  Con- 
stitution, and  fully  establish  Crawford's  own  former 
position,  "  that  the  enumeration  of  certain  powers  does 
not  exclude  all  other  powers  not  enumerated." 

How  then  could  the  bare  fact,  that  the  Federal  Con- 
vention of  1787  had  rejected  a  proposition  to  invest 
,  Congress  with  the  express  power  of  chartering  corpora- 
tions, while  the  same  Convention  had  rejected  similar 
propositions  as  applied  to  other  enumerated  grants,  and 
while  his  own  argument  on  the  point,  more  than  twenty 
years  previously,  still  remained  without  answer, — how 
could  this  naked  fact  operate  to  produce  a  change  of 
opinion  so  sudden  and  wonderful  in  Crawford's  mind, 
as  regarded  the  constitutionality  of  the  Bank  ?  A 
change  on  this  point  involves  a  change  of  all  his  former 
ideas  concerning  the  character  and  context  of  the  Fed- 
eral Constitution;  and  the  fact  that  the  Convention 
had  rejected  the  proposition  to  insert,  directly,  the 
power  to  erect  forts,  arsenals,  and  dock-yards,  similarly 
construed  with  the  fact  which  induced  his  change  of 
opinion  on  the  Bank  question,  would  have  compelled 
him  to  deny  all  such  powers  to  Congress.  The  labors 
and  the  reflections  of  his  whole  political  career,  direct- 
ed, as  they  were,  with  an  energy  and  talent  that  never 
stopped  short  of  complete  satisfaction,  would  thus  have 
been  forced  to  succumb  to  the  unsettled  impressions  of 
an  intellect,  shorn  by  disease  of  its  meridian  strength 
and  lustre,  and  naturally  impaired,  to  some  extent,  by 
long  retirement  and  premature  old  age.  Our  admira- 


WILLIAM    H.    CKAWFOED.  169 

tion  for  Crawford's  character  and  talents,  our  sincere 
respect  for  that  greatness  which  filled  the  world  with 
his  fame,  would  forbid  us  rashly  to  yield  the  ability  of 
the  splendid  argument  which  distinguished  his  Senato- 
rial career,  to  the  less  studied  and  undigested  opinions 
of  his  latter  years. 

There  are,  moreover,  very  strong  reasons  for  sup- 
posing that  this  fact,  alleged  in  after  years  as  the  cause 
of  his  change  of  opinion  on  the  constitutionality  of  the 
Bank,  could  not  have  weighed  very  heavily  with  him 
at  the  period  of  1811.  He  may  not  have  then  exam- 
ined its  history  as  minutely  as  he  did  afterwards ;  but 
the  fact  that  such  proposition  had  been  rejected  in  the 
Convention,  was  evidently  before  him.  It  was  alluded 
to  in  the  debates  which  first  occurred  in  connection 
with  the  charter  of  the  Bank  in  1791.  It  was  inciden- 
tally brought  up  in  answer  to  his  own  speech  of  1811. 
His  investigations  must  have  brought  the  fact  to  his 
eye  in  the  elaborate  opinions  officially  submitted  by 
Edmund  Randolph  and  Jefferson,  when  required  to  do 
so  as  cabinet  officers  by  President  Washington ;  not  to 
name  that  of  Hamilton,  who  argues  the  point  at  consid- 
erable length.  The  contents  of  these  papers  were 
known  well  to  the  politicians  of  the  Revolutionary  era. 
Besides,  Crawford  was  in  the  habit  of  frequent  inter- 
course with  members  of  the  Convention  who  voted  on 
the  very  question  mooted,  and  from  whom  he  must 
have  learned  the  history  of  the  proceeding.  We  yet 
find  no  allusion  to  the  matter  hi  either  of  his  speeches  ; 
and  the  fair  conclusion  is  that  the  fact  then  weighed 

O 

veiy  lightly  in  his  estimation.  And  why  should  it  not  ? 
How  could  it  be  regarded  in  a  serious  view  ?  Ought 
not  the  Constitution  to  be  decided  on  by  the  import  of 
its  own  expressions  ?  Crawford  was  too  astute  a  poli- 
tician not  to  be  made  aware  of  the  evil  consequences 
8 


1*70  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFOKD. 

which  might  result,  if  an  obscure  and  scantily  reported 
history,  as  to  certain  matters  which  occurred  in  the 
Convention,  shall  govern  the  construction  of  the  Con- 
stitution. The  instrument,  like  all  other  written  forms, 
is  entitled  to  a  fairer  and  less  attenuated  measure.  All 
must  admit  that  there  are  incidental  powers  belonging 
to  the  Constitution.  If  the  conclusion  shall,  therefore, 
be,  that  because  some  incidental  powers  are  expressed 
(as  those  for  erecting  forts,  dock-yards,  etc.),  no  others 
can  be  admitted,  it  would  not  only  be  contrary  to  the 
common  forms  of  construction,  but  would  reduce  the 
present  Congress  to  the  feebleness  of  the  old  one,  which 
could  exercise  no  powers  not  expressly  granted. 

Crawford,  even  in  his  latter  days,  could  not  have 
questioned  the  power  of  Congress  to  grant  a  charter  of 
incorporation  to  the  municipal  body  of  Washington 
City.  And  yet  no  such  power  is  expressly  conferred 
by  the  Constitution.  If,  because  the  Convention  re- 
jected a  proposition  to  insert  the  express  power  to 
charter  any  incorporations,  the  Bank  is  unconstitu- 
tional, the  same  rule  must  hold  good  as  concerns  any 
other  description  of  incorporation.  A  corporation  is 
the  same,  whether  applied  to  a  bank  or  to  a  munici- 
pality ;  and  if  the  absence  of  express  power  constitutes 
a  restriction,  the  rule  must  be  universally  applied  to 
all  subjects  of  legislation  coming  under  that  head. 
Such  a  mode  of  reasoning  would  capsize  the  legislation 
of  every  State  in  the  Union,  as  well  as  of  the  National 
Government.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  express 
power  to  charter  banks  or  incorporations  is  not  given 
in  any  State  Constitution,  any  more  than  it  is  given  in 
the  Federal  Constitution. 

But  the  validity  of  such  a  reason,  as  the  basis  of  a 
radical  change  of  opinion,  may  be  impeached  on  other 
and  stronger  grounds.  The  mere  rejection  of  a  propo- 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  171 

sition  to  insert  an  express  power  to  grant  charters  of 
incorporation,  is  not,  a,  fortiori,  the  evidence  of  opinion, 
on  the  part  of  the  framers,  hostile  to  the  proper  exer- 
cise of  such  power.  In  arranging  a  form  of  government 
adapted  to  the  growing  and  varying  wants  of  a  country 
which  bid  fair,  even  then,  to  become  a  populous  and  an 
enterprising  empire,  it  is  scarcely  allowable  to  suppose 
thaH  a  Convention  would  have  assumed  the  responsibil- 
ity of  fixing  as  an  immutable  feature  of  the  Constitution 
a  special  fiscal  agent  which,  for  better  or  for  worse, 
was  to  be  the  perpetual  depository  of  the  Government 
funds.  This  would  have  been  absurd.  The  Bank,  in 
the  process  of  time  and  amidst  the  vicissitudes  of  trade 
and  commerce,  might  have  been  found  less  convenient 
as  a  disbursing  agent  than  some  other  project.  The 
means  by  which  national  exigencies  are  to  be  provided 
for,  national  inconveniences  obviated,  national  pros- 
perity advanced,  are  of  such  infinite  variety,  extent, 
and  complicity,  that  there  must  of  necessity  be  great 
latitude  of  discretion  in  the  selection  and  application 
of  those  means.  The  wisest  course  under  such  circum- 
stances was,  as  the  Convention  fortunately  decided  on, 
to  engraft  a  general  clause  based  on  necessity  and  pro- 
priety, leaving  it  to  the  judgment  of  the  legislators  of 
each  succeeding  age  to  select  the  means  of  procedure. 
Besides,  the  debates  and  proceedings  of  the  Convention 
on  the  subject  of  adopting  the  proposition  in  question, 
clearly  show  that  its  rejection  was  carried  on  numerous 
grounds,  none  of  which  refer  to  a  decided  opinion  as  to 
its  incompatibility  with  the  general  powers  belonging 
to  the  Constitution.  Some  friends  of  the  Bank  of 
North  America,  as  it  existed  under  the  charter  of  the 
old  Government,  voted  against  the  insertion  of  an  ex- 
press power  to  erect  incorporations.  The  Constitution 
had  been,  after  much  contention  and  struggling,  nearly 


172  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

perfected.  The  elements  of  opposition  had  sprung  up 
at  every  step  in  its  progress  to  formation.  Each  ex- 
press power  had  been  jealously  argued.  It  was  only 
after  mutual  concessions  that  opposing  factions  had  co- 
alesced on  its  main  features.  It  was  known  that  fierce 
and  powerful  opposition  awaited  the  question  of  its 
adoption  before  the  people  of  the  States.  Every  thing, 
therefore,  which  might  tend  to  feed  this  opposition%as 
strictly  excluded ;  and  it  is  probable  that,  after  agree- 
ing upon  the  few  express  grants  of  cardinal  power,  the 
clause  giving  to  Congress  the  general  power  to  pass  all 
laws  necessary  and  proper  to  carry  into  effect  the  ex- 
press powers,  united  more  differences  of  sentiment  in 
its  support,  and  at  the  same  time  was  intended  to  con- 
vey more  extended  import,  than  any  clause  of  like  size 
ever  united  or  conveyed  before. 

Now  it  is  well  known  that,  throughout  his  entire 
political  career,  Crawford  had  been  distinguished  by 
bold  expansion  of  thought  and  liberality  of  opinions. 
He  had  been  in  advance  of  his  friends  and  of  his  politi- 
cal party  on  all  the  great  practical  questions  at  issue. 
He  had  planned  his  action  on  these  views,  and  never 
varied  from  their  pursuit.  The  views  we  have  here 
set  forth  are  deducible  from  his  own  speeches  and  re- 
ports to  Congress;  and  it  is  hardly  to  be  presumed 
that  his  sagacious  mind  had,  in  its  zenith,  failed  to  take 
in  and  act  upon  their  full  scope.  We  cannot,  therefore, 
consent  that  the  foundations  of  his  fame  and  greatness 
shall  be  thus  undermined  by  arraying  the  prejudices  of 
his  latter  years,  as  of  superior  authority  to  and  against 
the  splendid  achievements  of  his  meridian  life.  Leaving, 
then,  these  facts  and  reasonings  to  be  appreciated  as 
may  best  chance,  we  shall  now  proceed  with  the  regu- 
lar course  of  narrative. 

The  Bank  excitement  in  the  Senate  was  soon  sue- 


WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED.  173 

ceeded  by  the  thrilling  scenes  which  preceded  the 
declaration  of  war  against  Great  Britain.  It  was  well 
known  that,  however  widely  Crawford  might  differ 
from  the  body  of  the  Republican  party  on  questions  of 
domestic  policy,  on  the  subject  of  declaring  war  he 
was  with  them  heart  and  hand,  and  even  zealous  for 
an  immediate  resort  to  direct  hostilities.  He  had 
given  his  voice  for  war  since  the  time  when  the  Chesa- 
peake had  been  so  wantonly  outraged  by  the  Leopard ; 
and  now,  that  repeated  injuries  to  American  commerce 
at  the  hands  of  British  subjects  had  followed  that  first 
insolent  invasion  of  our  national  rights,  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate to  declare  that  further  postponement  of  hostilities 
would  bring  dishonor  to  the  American  name  and  na- 
tion. The  timid  and  dallying  policy  of  the  Adminis- 
tration was  not  in  accordance  with  his  bold  and  ener- 
getic nature.  Negotiations  had  been  prolonged  from 
year  to  year,  while  both  England  and  France  were 
daily  preying  on  American  commerce.  Pirates  and 
privateers  swept  the  ocean  from  one  end  to  the  other ; 
our  sailors  were  violently  seized  and  impressed;  our 
merchandise  was  ruthlessly  confiscated.  No  quarter 
was  shown  by  either  of  the  belligerents,  and  no  excep- 
tions were  made  in  any  instance,  or  under  any  circum- 
stances. Embargoes  were  raised  only  to  subject  our 
vessels  to  pillage,  and  restrictions  modified  only  to 
benefit  enemies  and  robbers.  The  Berlin  and  Milan 
decrees  were  still  rigorously  enforced,  to  our  dishonor 
and  injury,  and  British  orders  in  Council  still  remained 
in  full  effect,  notwithstanding  our  protestations  and 
threats. 

Such  was  the  complexion  of  our  intercourse  with 
Europe  when  the  session  of  1811-12  was  opened.  It 
had  progressed  until  April  of  the  latter  year,  when  the 
Vice  President,  George  Clinton,  died.  In  consequence 


174  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOED. 

of  this  melancholy  and  sudden  event,  the  chair  of  the 
Senate  became  vacant.  An  election  for  President  pro 
tempore  was  held,  and  Crawford  was  unanimously 
chosen.  His  elevation,  however  gratifying,  withdrew 
from  the  active  sphere  of  senatorial  duties  one  of  the 
most  zealous  and  powerful  advocates  for  the  war.  He 
however  discharged  the  delicate  functions  of  this  high 
office  with  an  ability,  impartiality,  and  promptness  that 
won  golden  opinions  from  all  parties,  and  that  materi- 
ally expedited  the  now  complicated  business  of  the 
chamber.  But  his  abstraction  from  the  floor  did  not 
operate  to  weaken  his  deep  interest  in  the  war  ques- 
tion. Hi*  vote  will  be  found  recorded  in  favor  of 
every  measure  which  looked  to  preparation  for  an 
event  that  was  now  deemed  inevitable ;  and  when,  at 
length,  towards  the  beginning  of  summer,  test  ques- 
tions began  to  be  taken  almost  every  day,  the  name  of 
Crawford  stands  conspicuously  in  the  affirmative  on 
each  occasion.  The  final  act,  as  is  well  known,  having 
passed  both  Houses  early  in  June,  was  approved  and 
published  on  the  1 8th  of  the  month ;  and  Congress, 
after  voting  fuh1  supplies  to  meet  the  interesting  exi- 
gency, soon  afterwards  adjourned. 

It  is  not  within  the  purposes  of  this  article  to  pur- 
sue further  allusion  to  the  events  of  this  memorable 
war.  This  is  more  properly  the  province  of  some  fu- 
ture historian,  whose  labors  shall  be  directed  to  that 
subject.  We  will  barely  say,  that  the  history  of  that 
period  remains  to  be  written.  Those  who  have  essayed 
to  do  so,  thus  far,  have  been  strangely  ignorant  or  cul- 
pably negligent,  if  we  are  to  judge  their  talent  or  their 
industry  by  the  fruits  of  their  attempts.  There  are 
pouits  involved  which  claim  the  deepest  interest,  apart 
from  the  shock  and  thunder  of  battle-fields  and  of  hos- 
tile navies,  but  which  have  received  scarcely  a  passing 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  175 

notice  at  the  hands  of  the  penny-picking  hordes  and 
demagogue  adventurers  who  have  heretofore  thrust 
their  puny  efforts  on  the  reading  public. 

Crawford's  reputation,  at  this  time,  had  become 
equal  to  that  of  any  statesman  in  the  Republic.  He 
had  been  not  more  than  five  years  a  member  of  Con- 
gress, and  only  eight  years  in  public  life.  A  compara- 
tively short  period  had  but  elapsed  since  he  had  been 
an  humble  and  obscure  pedagogue.  Yet  his  fame  was 
now  spread  through  the  whole  land,  and  the  public 
voice  ranked  him  among  the  greatest  ef  the  nation. 
The  eyes  of  the  people  turned  to  him  with  confidence, 
as  the  crisis  approached  which  all  dreaded.  His  en- 
ergy of  character,  boldness,  and  known  business  qualifi- 
cation elicited  general  admiration,  and  his  rapidly  in- 
creasing popularity  induced  Mr.  Madison  to  invite  him 
to  become  a  member  of  his  Cabinet.  He  was  offered 
the  important  post  of  Secretary  of  War,  and  earnestly 
solicited  to  accept.  After  mature  reflection  and  con- 
sultation, he  decided  to  remain  in  the  Senate.  This 
act  we  feel  bound  to  condemn.  '  In  view  of  approach 
ing  hostilities  with  England,  and  consequent  disruption 
of  nearly  all  foreign  intercourse,  the  Department  of 
War  was  to  become  the  principal,  and  most  interesting 
arm  of  the  Government ;  especially  when  it  is  consid- 
ered that  the  President  himself  was  not  peculiarly 
gifted  with  those  qualities  which  constitute  an  ener- 
getic and  successful  war  officer.  Indeed,  the  event 
showed  that  Mr.  Madison  was  wholly  deficient  in  this 
respect,  and,  therefore,  eminently  in  want  of  a  counsel- 
lor like  Crawford.  We  hesitate  not  to  declare  the 
opinion,  that  if  Crawford,  instead  of  the  then  incum- 
bent, had  been  in  charge  of  the  War  Department,  a 
British  force  would  never  have  crossed  the  boundaries 
of  the  District,  and  Washington  would  not  have  been 


176  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOKD. 

A 

pillaged  and  burned  by  the  invaders.  It  is  now  gen- 
erally conceded  by  military  men  that  the  battle  of 
Bladensburg  was  lost  to  the  Americans  in  consequence 
of  bad  management ;  and  it  is  even  a  question  whether 
a  more  energetic  Government  would  not  have  been 
able  to  prevent  the  expedition  and  landing  of  Admiral 
Cockburn  altogether.  We  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
Mr.  Madison  was  not  an  able  and  efficient  executive 
officer,  in  the  discharge  of  his  general  duties.  As  a 
civilian  we  regard  him  as  standing  pre-eminent  among 
all  his  compeers.  But  we  do  mean. to  say  that  he  was 
totally  unacquainted  with  the  practical  rules  of  the 
military  art,  and  most  singularly  deficient  in  natural 
endowments  as  concerns  the  qualities  of  a  war  officer. 
No  one,  we  imagine,  better  knew  of  these  deficiencies 
than  Crawford.  He  was  high  in  the  confidence  of  the 
President,  and  was  often  advised  with  by  members  of 
the  Cabinet.  He  was  quite  too  sagacious  not  to  have 
found  out  that  they  were  all  entirely  unlearned  in  mili- 
tary affairs,  and  accomplished  only  in  the  civil  routine 
of  statesmanship.  Mr.  Monroe,  it  is  true,  had  seen 
some  active  service,  but  it  is  no  disparagement  to  say 
of  him,  that  he  had  never  discovered  any  extraordinary 
qualifications  as  an  officer,  beyond  the  possession  of  un- 
questioned personal  courage ;  and  this  is  not  to  be  de- 
nied either  to  Mr.  Madison  or  to  his  Cabinet.  Besides, 
a  long  and  successful  diplomatic  career  had  doubtless 
contributed  to  unfit  the  then  Secretary  of  State  for  the 
prompt  and  energetic  service  of  military  life.  The  di- 
plomatist and  the  commander  are  antipodes  in  char- 
acter. The  kind  of  study  which  makes  the  first  is  pre- 
cisely that  which  is  calculated  to  unmake  the  last.  The 
one  must  study  how  to  dally,  to  delay,  to  mystify  lan- 
guage, to  misinterpret  expressions,  to  avoid  direct 
issues,  and,  sometimes,  to  feign  irresolution.  It  is  true 


WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED.  177 

that  the  ancient  mode  of  warfare  was  formed  somewhat 
on  the  same  basis ;  but  modern  warriors,  Frederick  the 
Great,  Bonaparte,  Wellington,  Jackson,  have  proven 
that  the  opposite  of  all  these  qualities  are  the  true 
characteristics  of  an  accomplished  commander.  It 
may  happen,  as  to  some  extent  in  the  case  of  Napo- 
leon, that  the  diplomatist  and  the  captain  may  be 
united  in  one  person ;  but  it  is  certain  that  they  were 
not  united  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Monroe,  although  he 
was  one  of  the  most  useful  and  distinguished  executive 
officers  ever  known  to  the  country.  But  Crawford, 
while  having  never  received  a  military  education,  was 
eminently  prepared  to  manage  the  War  Department  at 
a  time  when  energy,  decision,  and  bold  qualities  of 
mind  and^>f  character  were  so  imperatively  needed. 
Rapidity  of  thought  was  a  chief  trait  in  his  mental 
structure,  and  immediate  action  followed.  He  pos- 
sessed great  enterprise,  great  prescience,  and  great 
resources  of  mind,  while  passion  and  enthusiasm  were 
strangely  blended  with  calmness  and  deliberation. 
None,  in  fact,  who  have  studied  and  compared  human 
character,  will  fail  to  perceive  that  his  prominent  traits 
of  character  were  the  very  same  as  those  which  distin- 
guished the  elder  William  Pitt.  The  Department  of 
War,  then,  was  the  office  for  which  he  was,  at  that 
juncture  of  affairs,  particularly  fitted ;  and  having  been 
so  early,  unwavering,  and  conspicuous  an  advocate  for 
the  declaration  of  war  against  Great  Britain,  there  was 
restirfg  on  him,  we  think,  a  very  heavy  obligation  to 
accept  and  enter  upon  the  duties  of  the  office  which 
was  tendered  to  him  by  the  President.  He  chose  to 
decide  differently,  and  justice  to  his  known  disinterest- 
edness of  character  requires  us  to  believe  that  his  re- 
fusal was  induce'd  by  some  strong  personal  reasons 
which  have  not  been  declared. 
8* 


178  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

In  the  spring  of  1813  Crawford  was  appointed  Min- 
ister to  the  Court  of  France,  in  the  room  of  Joel  Bar- 
low, who  had  died  just  a  few  months  previously,  whilst 
in  the  active  discharge  of  the  important  duties  of  his 
mission.  Our  relations  with  his  Imperial  Majesty,  at 
this  time,  were  most  delicately  and  singularly  involved, 
and  their  conduct  required  the  aid  of  just  such  a  person 
as  Crawford.  There  was  no  subtle  diplomacy  to  be 
resorted  to  in  their  management,  but  a  bold  demand 
to  be  made  for  redress  of  past  injuries,  and  an  explana- 
tion asked  of  an  act  which  betokened  bad  faith.  The 
spoliations  on  American  commerce  and  the  sequestra- 
tion of  American  property,  which  followed  on  the  Ber- 
lin and  Milan  decrees,  had  begun  to  be  most  severely 
felt  by  all  classes  of  our  citizens,  and  a  spirifc  of  resent- 
ment was  becoming  rife  throughout  the  whole  land. 
In  proportion  to  the  delay  of  Congress  to  pass  measures 
which  looked  to  direct  hostility  with  England,  did  Bo- 
naparte increase  the  rigorous  execution  of  these  harsh 
decrees.  He  had  resolved,  from  the  first,  that  our  Gov- 
ernment should  choose  between  France  and  England. 
Knowing  that  the  British  Ministry  were  pursuing  a 
policy  towards  the  United  States  which  must  inevitably 
lead  to  a  war,  he  directed  his  whole  efforts  to  precipi- 
tate that  event.  To  this  end,  while  sternly  enforcing 
the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees  against  us,  he  never  failed 
to  intimate,  at  the  same  time,  that  those  decrees  would 
be  relaxed  the  moment  that  our  Government  took  the 
initiative  steps  to  hostilities  with  England.  Indeecl,  he 
assured  the  American  Minister  that  his  course  was  the 
consequence  alone  of  British  insolence,  which  last  being 
manifested  as  well  to  the  United  States  as  to  France, 
he  was  resolved  to  make  no  exception  in  our  favor  until 
our  Government  prepared  to  resent  the  orders  in  Coun- 
cil ;  further  declaring  that  the  decrees  were  to  be  sus- 


WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD.  179 

pended  so  soon  as  we  should  procure  a  revocation  of 
the  British  orders.  These  pretended  friendly  advances, 
made  at  a  time  when,  in  addition  to  the  evils  we  were 
suffering  in  consequence  of  suspended  commerce,  our 
seamen  were  being  daily  impressed  into  the  British 
service,  were  received  with  marked  favor  by  the  Amer- 
ican Government  and  nation,  notwithstanding  that 
every  one  saw  clearly  the  selfish  motive  which  actuated 
the  French  Emperor.  No  one  doubted  but  that  the 
advances  were  made  with  a  view  to  throw  the  whole 
blame  where,  in  fact,  it  properly  belonged,  on  the  com- 
mon enemy  of  both  countries ;  and  thus,  by  producing 
angry  and  fruitless  correspondences,  to  compel  us  into 
a  state  of  hostility  with  England.  But  the  American 
Cabinet  were  wise  enough  to  see  that  these  overtures 
from  Bonaparte,  no  matter  how  intended,  might  be  ef- 
fectually used  to  bring  our  relations  to  a  determination 
with  either  belligerent.  Accordingly,  on  the  first  of 
March,  1809,  a  non-intercourse  with  France  and  Eng- 
land was  substituted  by  Congress  in  lieu  of  the  em- 
bargo, the  President  being  authorized,  at  the  same 
time,  that  in  case  either  power  should  repeal  or  modify 
their  exceptionable  edicts,  intercourse  with  the  same 
should  be  renewed.  Mr.  Erskine  was  then  the  Minister 
of  Great  Britain  at  Washington.  He  was  a  warm  ad- 
vocate of  peace  between  the  two  countries,  and,  avail- 
ing himself  of  this  law,  gave  assurances  to  the  Secretary 
of  State  that  the  orders  in  Council  should  be  withdrawn 
after  the  10th  of  June  following.  Without  waiting  to 
inquire  how  far  this  declaration  might  comport  with 
the  ambassador's  instructions,  Mr.  Madison  very  pre- 
cipitately, as  we  think,  issued  his  proclamation,  opening 
the  ports  of  the  United  States  to  British  vessels,  and 
renewing  intercourse  with  England.  It  would  have 
been  more  prudent,  as  the  event  showed,  to  await  a 


180  WILLIAM  H.   CEAWFOKD. 

confirmation  of  this  promise  from  the  British  Govern- 
ment, and  at  the  same  time  to  cause  that  of  France  to 
be  notified  of  the  arrangement,  so  that  her  protesta- 
tions of  friendship  might  have  been  fairly  tried.  But 
the  President,  seemingly  in  too  hot  haste  to  conciliate 
Great  Britain,  issued  his  proclamation ;  and,  as  a  nat- 
ural consequence,  this  act,  so  well  calculated  to  wound 
the  pride  and  excite  the  jealousy  of  France,  inasmuch 
as  a  discrimination  was  thus  rashly  made  to  her  preju- 
dice without  allowing  to  her  ordinary  grace  time,  threw 
Napoleon  into  an  uncontrollable  ecstasy  of  passion. 
The  -Berlin  and  Milan  decrees  were  executed  against 
American  vessels  with  tenfold  rigor,  and  our  Minister 
resident  was  loaded  with  taunts  and  reproaches. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  declaration  and  promises  of 
Mr.  Erskine  were  disavowed  by  the  British  Govern- 
ment, and  it  was  announced  that,  in  making  such,  he 
had  exceeded  his  instructions.  The  whole  arrange- 
ment, therefore,  fell  to  the  ground ;  and  the  President, 
repenting  too  late  his  precipitancy,  renewed  the  Non- 
intercourse  Act  against  England,  early  in  the  ensuing 
August.  Mr.  Erskine,  chagrined  and  mortified, '  de- 
manded to  be  recalled,  and  the  last  prospect  of  a  satis- 
factory adjustment  faded  away. 

In  this  extraordinary  state  of  afiairs,  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States  was  indeed  seriously  embar- 
rassed as  to  its  future  course  with  the  two  implacable 
belligerents.  In  his  anxiety  to  preserve  amicable  rela- 
tions with  both,  and  to  avoid  war,  it  is  not  to  be  denied 
that  Mr.  Madison,  constitutionally  timid  as  a  politician, 
and  perplexed  by  the  unpatriotic  course  of  the  Eastern 
States,  committed  many  blunders,  and  was  guilty  of 
extreme  precipitancy  in  more  than  one  instance.  But 
the  purity  of  his  motives  cannot  be  questioned,  not- 
withstanding that  his  course  may  be  liable  to  severe 


WILLIAM   H.   CRAWFORD.  181 

censure.  To  relieve  this  embarrassment,  however,  and 
to  guard  against  future  precipitancy,  it  was  now  deter- 
mined to  change  position  with  respect  to  both  bellig- 
erents. It  was  determined  that  the  merchant  vessels 
of  both  nations  should  be  admitted  into  American 
ports,  while  their  armed  ships  were  excluded.  The 
President,  too,  was  again  authorized  to  propose  that  in 
case  either  power  revoked  its  offensive  edicts  within  a 
certain  time,  the  same  was  to  be  declared  by  proclama- 
tion ;  and  that  then,  if  the  other  nation  did  not  also 
relax  its  policy,  the  non-intercourse  law  was  to  revive 
against  the  latter,  and  all  restrictions  raised  as  to  the 
former.  This  act  being  communicated  to  both  Gov- 
ernments, drew  from  that  of  France  a  letter  from  the 
Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  to  the  American  Ambassa- 
dor, declaring  that  the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees  were 
revoked,  and  that  after  the  first  of  November,  1810, 
they  would  cease  to  have  any  effect ;  "  it  being  under- 
stood^ the  Minister  said,  "  that,  in  consequence  of  this 
declaration,  the  English  shall  revoke  their  orders  in 
Council,  or  that  the  United  States  shall  cause  their 
rights  to  be  respected."  The  guarded  language  of  this 
letter,  as  well  as  the  fact  of  its  not  being  signed  by  the 
Emperor  or  accompanied  by  any  authoritative  repeal, 
should  have  placed,  we  think,  a  degree  of  prudent  re- 
straint on  the  course  of  our  Government.  There  was, 
clearly,  a  most  serious  condition  attached;  and  the 
question  arose,  whether  it  was  precedent  or  subsequent, 
when  construed  by  the  technical  rules  of  law.  The 
American  Executive  adopted,  promptly,  the  latter  in- 
terpretation, and,  despite  the  signal  consequences  which 
had  followed  his  hasty  action  in  a  previous  case,  imme- 
diately issued  his  proclamation  as  prescribed  by  the 
act,  without  even  the  formality  of  a  communication 
with  England.  The  proclamation,  as  before,  gave  rise 


182  WILLIAM  H.   CRAWFORD. 

to  many  and  serious  disputes.  That  Napoleon  intended 
the  concluding  sentence  just  quoted  as  a  precedent  con- 
dition, and  that  his  degrees  should  remain  in  force  un- 
til the  British  orders  in  Council  were  definitively  re- 
voked, the  issue  evidently  unfolds.  It  was  confidently 
predicted  that  England  would  not  regard  such  an  ob- 
scure declaration  as  a  revocation  of  the  decrees ;  that 
she  would  not,  without  a  more  formal  promulgation  of 
the  Emperor's  designs,  relax  her  own  policy ;  and  she 
did  so  decide  and  act.  As  a  natural  consequence, 
therefore,  American  vessels  were  still  seized  under  the 
Berlin  and  Milan  decrees,  as  had  been  predicted,  and 
the  declaration  of  the  French  Minister  produced  no 
visible  fruits.  Bonaparte's  crafty  policy  began  to  be 
clearly  developed.  Every  one  now  understood  that 
the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees,  since  England  had  de- 
clined to  revoke  her  orders  in  Council,  would  only  be 
relaxed  in  our  favor  when  the  United  States  should  de- 
clare war,  as  had  been  expressly  provided  in  the  French 
Minister's  letter,  against  Great  Britain.  In  this  dilem- 
ma, an  appeal  was  again  made  by  the  American  Cabinet 
to  England,  to  the  effect  that  the  declaration  of  the 
French  Minister  should  induce  a  relaxation  of  policy. 
This  appeal  called  forth  the  celebrated  annunciation 
from  the  Prince  Regent,  that  England  would  only  re- 
voke the  orders  in  Council  when  the  French  Govern- 
ment, by  some  authentic  act,  publicly  promulged,  should 
make  known  the  unconditional  repeal  of  the  Berlin 
and  Milan  decrees.  This  answer  was  intended  to  be 
final,  and  it  was  so  regarded ;  and  at  this  point  opens  a 
chapter  of  history  as  interesting  as  singular,  the  eluci- 
dation of  which  is  still  locked  up  within  the  unexplored 
recesses  of  diplomatic  craft. 

The  American  Cabinet  had  now  fairly  taken  its  po- 
sition.    France  had  responded  to  its  demand,  and,  if 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  183 

equivocally,  at  least  in  such  way  as  had  been  recognized 
and  acted  upon.  England  had  peremptorily  refused, 
and  to  such  extent  had  this  refusal  exasperated  public 
sentiment,  that  no  alternative  was  left  but  a  resort  to 
the  last  appeal  of  nations.  It  is  clear  that  Bonaparte 
had  been  all  along  laboring  to  produce  this  result.  His 
policy  was  developing  at  every  period  of  the  negotia- 
tions ;  and  a  fact  which  now  soon  came  to  light,  left  no 
doubt  as  to  his  designs  in  so  long  delaying  a  public  and 
authentic  revocation  of  his  decrees.  Here  is  the  start- 
ing point  of  the  secret  history.  The  declaration  of  the 
Prince  Regent,  while  it  precipitated  the  declaration  of 
our  war  with  England,  had  been  seized  upon  by  Mr. 
Barlow,  our  Minister  to  France,  as  a  ground  of  appeal 
to  the  French  Emperor  to  leave  England  without  ex- 
cuse for  her  conduct,  by  promulging  an  authentic  and 
definitive  repeal  of  the  Berlin  and  Milan  decrees.  It 
was  urged  that  Napoleon  should  explicitly  declare  that 
these  decrees  had  not  been  applied  in  our  case  since  the 
previous,  though  disputed,  declaration  to  that  effect. 
Not  having  yet  heard  what  eifect  the  Prince  Regent's 
declaration  had  produced  on  the  American  Congress 
and  Government,  Napoleon  was  reluctant,  at  first,  to 
make  any  response  to  this  appeal.  If  he  should  re- 
spond, and,  in  that  event,  England  should  revoke  her 
orders  in  Council,  he  feared  evidently  lest  such  revoca- 
tion on  his  part  might  calm  excitement  in  the  United 
States,  and  thus  break  up  the  prospect  of  war,  which 
had  now  opened  so  auspiciously  for  his  purposes.  But 
in  the  meanwhile  there  came  to  France  such  rumors  of 
hostile  preparations  in  this  country,  of  embargoes  laid, 
and  of  moneys  to  be  raised,  of  armies  to  be  recruited, 
and  of  fleets  to  be  equipped,  that  all  doubt  as  to  the  re- 
sult was  fully  removed,  and  war  placed  beyond  the 
reach  of  remedy.  Then  he  answered  the  call.  A  de- 


184  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

cree,  bearing  the  imperial  signature,  was  produced  and 
handed  to  Mr.  Barlow,  which  purported  to  have  been 
dated  and  duly  issued  on  the  28th  of  April,  1811,  de- 
claring unequivocally  that  no  application  of  the  Berlin 
and  Milan  decrees  had  been  made,  as  respected  Ameri- 
can vessels,  since  November  of  the  year  previous,  and 
fairly  confirming  the  disputed  declaration  of  the  last 
date.  This  document,  thus  long  and  singularly  con- 
cealed, was  no  sooner  published,  than  England  at  once 
revoked  the  orders  in  Council.  But  the  revocation 
came  too  late.  War  had  been  declared  by  the  Ameri- 
can Congress  just  five  days  before,  though,  of  course, 
the  news  had  not  reached  Europe. 

The  correspondence  which  produced  the  delivery 
of  this  mysterious  document  occurred  in  May,  1812. 
It  reached  Washington  early  in  July  of  the  same  year, 
and  threw  surprise  and  consternation  on  the  whole 
Cabinet.  Congress  had  risen.  War  with  England  had 
been  declared,  and  was  then  going  on.  It  was  now 
evident,  from  the  date  of  Mr.  Barlow's  despatches,  that 
the  decree  thus  tardily  published  must  have  produced 
a  change  of  British  poh'cy,  and  in  August  news  came 
that  the  orders  in  Council,  in  accordance  with  the 
Prince  Regent's  declaration  of  nigh  twelve  months  pre- 
viously, had  actually  been  repealed  before  the  passage 
of  the  war  act  through  Congress.  Suffice  it  to  say  that 
the  American  Cabinet  was  doubly  confused  by  these 
startling  developments,  well  knowing  that  Congress,  at 
the  approaching  session,  would  institute  rigorous  in- 
quiry into  the  whole  matter.  We  do  not  charge  that 
they  deprecated  or  dreaded  such  inquiry.  It  is  to  be 
supposed  that  they  did  not.  We  certainly  do  not  be- 
lieve that  they  could  have  been  seriously  inculpated ; 
for,  admitting,  as  we  must  candidly  insist,  that  the 
Cabinet  had  been  guilty  of  some  indiscretions,  that 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  185 

they  had  been  somewhat  outwitted,  both  by  England 
and  France,  but  especially  by  the  last,  and  that  they 
had  fallen  into  some  errors,  we  yet  believe  that  war 
would  have  been  declared  against  England  in  the  face 
of  this  revocation,  unless  she  had  renounced  the  right 
of  search  and  of  impressment. 

Such  was  the  singular  state  of  our  relations  with 
France,  when  Crawford  was  appointed  Minister  to  that 
Court.  Mr.  Barlow  had  been  instructed  to  demand  an 
explanation  as  to  the  causes  which  had  induced  the  long 
concealment  of  this  definitive  decree,  to  insist  upon 
ample  indemnity  for  spoliations  on  our  commerce  under 
the  imperial  decrees,  and  to  bring  about  a  favorable 
commercial  treaty.  But  in  the  mean  time  Napoleon 
left  Paris  for  the  Russian  campaign.  He  caused  Mr. 
Barlow  to  be  invited  to  meet  him,  late  in  the  winter 
following,  at  Wilna.  On  this  journey  Mr.  Barlow  was 
stricken  with  the  malady  which  produced  his  death,  in 
December,  and  ere  yet  he  had  been  able  to  perfect  the 
negotiation.  Crawford  reached  Paris  in  July  of  1813, 
and  was  charged  with  the  same  instructions.  But  the 
Emperor  was  not  then  in  his  capital.  He  had  been, 
since  May,  with  the  armies  in  and  around  Dresden,  and 
was  wholly  absorbed  with  the  events  and  scenes  of  the 
memorable  campaign  of  that  year.  His  mind  was  en- 
gaged with  other  and  sterner  matters  than  indemnities 
and  spoliations ;  the  coming  event  of  his  downfall  had 
already  cast  its  shadow  in  his  path,  and  disasters  and 
reverses,  hitherto  unknown  to  his  arms,  were  already 
combining  to  hurry  the  fatal  event. 

Nevertheless,  on  the  27th  of  July,  fourteen  days 
after  his  arrival,  Crawford  took  occasion  to  inform  the 
Duke  of  Bassano,  the  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  in  an 
official  note,  of  his  presence  as  the  Envoy  of  the  United 
States  near  his  Majesty's  government.  The  Duke  re- 


186  WILLIAM    II.    CRAWFORD. 

plied,  welcoming  him  to  France,  and  recognizing  his 
official  presence ;  but  requested  that  he  should  await 
the  Emperor's  return  to  Paris,  and  present  his  creden- 
tials at  that  time.  It  is  known  to  all  readers  that  this 
return  was  long  delayed.  During  the  entire  summer 
and  part  of  the  fall,  the  campaign  was  vigorously  prose- 
cuted on  both  sides,  and  victory  would  declare  for  Na- 
poleon to-day,  only  to  be  wrested  from  him  to-morrow 
by  the  allies.  At  length  the  disastrous  battle  of  Leipsic 
was  fought,  and  Napoleon  retreated  from  Germany. 
The  brilliant  victory  of  Hanau  restored,  for  a  moment, 
the  prestige  of  his  military  fame ;  but  the  days  of  Ma- 
rengo  and  of  Austerlitz  had  passed,  and  the  light  of  his 
ancient  glory  was  fast  fading  before  the  gloom  of  ap- 
proaching ruin.  He  entered  Paris  on  the  ninth  of  No- 
vember, dejected  and  mistrustful,  in  no  mood  for  nego- 
tiating concerning  a  matter  comparatively  so  prospective 
and  secondary  as  was  his  difference  with  the  American 
Government.  Yet,  in  token  of  the  sincere  respect 
which  he  had  always  professed  to  entertain  for  our 
Government  and  nation,  he  received  the  new  Minister 
with  great  civility  and  favor.  Crawford  presented 
himself  at  the  very  first  public  reception  after  the  Em- 
peror's return.  Napoleon  advanced  to  meet  him,  sa- 
luted him,  it  is  said,  with  a  most  profound  bow,  spoke 
in  high  terms  of  the  character  of  the  United  States,  and 
even  complimented  him,  with  true  French  urbanity,  on 
his  fine  personal  appearance.  He  remarked  tb  the 
courtiers  who  stood  around,  that  the  American  Minis- 
ter's looks  corresponded  most  strikingly  with  his  great 
reputation  as  a  statesman,  and  realized  all  previous 
conceptions  of  him. 

Notwithstanding  this  civil  deportment,  however, 
the  negotiation  made  no  progress,  and  Crawford's  over- 
tures were  constantly  postponed.  The  "Bulking  fortunes 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  187 

of  the  Empire  left  Napoleon  and  his  Minister  no  time 
to  pursue  the  business  for  which  Crawford  had  crossed 
the  Atlantic.  Indeed,  the  patience  of  the  American 
Minister,  never  very  great,  was  beginning  fast  to  tire. 
In  January,  1814,  after  having  been  in  Paris  more  than 
six  months,  he  writes  to  Mr.  Monroe  that  he  had  only 
been  able  to  effect  one  interview  with  the  Duke  of  Bas- 
sano.  This  resulted  in  nothing.  The  communications 
of  Crawford,  touching  the  demands  of  his  Government, 
were  drawn  with  marked  ability  and  skill;  but  the 
rush  of  startling  events  in  Europe  prevented  the  Duke 
from  making  any  reply.  At  length,  on  the  25th,  the 
Emperor  again  left  Paris  for  the  armies,  without  having 
given  any  reason  for  the  long  concealment  of  the  coun- 
ter decree  of  28th  of  April,  1811,  or  making  any  ar- 
rangement to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  American 
Government.  Crawford  never  saw  him  afterwards, 
and  there  the  business  rested  during  the  whole  winter. 
It  is  known  that  in  less  than  two  months  from  the 
time  that  he  left  Paris,  Napoleon  was  beaten  at  all 
points.  The  allies,  pressing  their  advantages,  advanced 
rapidly  on  Paris,  and  forced  the  garrison  to  capitulate. 
King  Joseph  and  the  Empress  fled  at  their  approach, 
and,  on  the  31st  of  March,  the  allied  sovereigns,  fol- 
lowed by  their  victorious  bands,  made  their  entrance 
into  the  city.  The  eighteenth  Louis  was  restored  to 
the  inheritance  of  his  ancestors,  and  Crawford  received 
instructions  to  press  the  demand  for  indemnity  on  the 
new  Government.  But  a  serious  obstacle  was  now 
presented.  The  King  assumed  the  ground  that  his 
Government  was  not  liable  for  the  acts  of  the  usurper. 
Crawford  argued  the  point  with  great  force,  and  clearly 
established  the  contrary  position.  The  negotiations 
were  prolonged  throughout  the  year,  and,  had  the 
Government  lasted,  it  is  more  than  probable,  we  in- 


188  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOKD. 

cline  to  think,  that  our  demands  might  have  been 
satisfied. 

But  an  event  was  suddenly  interposed  which  again 
distracted  the  entire  business.  Negotiations  could 
scarcely  be  fixed  on  a  treaty  basis,  before  revolution 
unsettled  the  foundations.  Napoleon  escaped  from 
Elba,  landed  safely  in  France,  and,  on  the  20th  of 
March,  rode  triumphantly  into  Paris.  All  Europe  im- 
mediately declared  war  against  him,  and  every  other 
business  gave  way  before  the  pressing  necessity  for 
preparation  to  maintain  his  throne. 

The  memorable  Hundred  Days  followed.  The  few 
days  that  were  allowed  to  Napoleon  to  remain  in  the 
capital  were  sedulously  devoted  to  a  resuscitation  of 
the  embarrassed  finances,  to  the  raising  of  funds  and 
provisions,  to  the  levying  of  troops,  and  to  the  organi- 
zation of  armies.  The  forces  of  Austria  and  Prussia 
were  already  on  the  confines  of  France.  The  martial 
hordes  of  Russia  were  swarming  on  the  banks  of  the 
Vistula.  The  British  army  had  crossed  over  into  Bel- 
gium, under  command  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  and 
was  forming  rapidly  for  a  march  to  Paris.  The  bris- 
tling bayonets  of  twenty  banded  nations  were  pointed 
against  his  single  throne,  and  France,  threatened  on  all 
sides,  was  looking  to  him  as  her  only  hope.  Negotia- 
tions and  treaties  with  transatlantic  nations  were  not  to 
be  thought  of  at  such  a  time,  and  if  thought  of,  there 
was  no  leisure  to  answer  their  demands.  In  fact,  Na- 
poleon left  Paris  for  the  armies  so  soon  as  his  arrange- 
ments for  prosecuting  the  campaign  were  completed, 
and  his  ministers  were  not  clothed  with  authority  to 
make  any  negotiation  during  his  absence. 

The  scenes  of  the  eventful  campaign  which  ensued 
are  well  known  to  all  readers  of  history.  Napoleon 
lost  the  battle  of  Waterloo  on  the  18th  of  June,  and  in 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  189 

a  few  weeks  afterwards  Paris  once  again  opened  her 
gates  to  the  allied  armies.  The  fierce  Prussian  and  the 
haughty  Briton  were  bivouacked  on  her  promenades, 
and  each  day  witnessed  some  appalling  act  of  military 
power,  or  some  scene  of  national  degradation.  Treas- 
ured trophies  of  victory,  and  cherished  monuments  of 
glory  and  of  architectural  taste,  were  alike  swept  away 
and  destroped  by  the  ruthless  conquerors.  No  houses 
were  spared  save  those  occupied  by  the  foreign  ambas- 
sadors, and  among  these,  none  was  so  respected  as  that 
of  Crawford.  The  well-known  banner  of  stars  and 
stripes  floated  proudly  above  his  door,  and  its  broad 
folds  were  a  sure  protection  to  all  who  came  within 
their  shadow. 

During  the  occupancy  of  Paris  by  the  allied  armies, 
a  public  procession  was  ordered  to  celebrate  the  King's 
return.  All  the  resident  ambassadors  from  foreign 
governments  were  invited  to  participate,  and  as  the  oc- 
casion was  to  be  made  one  of  great  attraction  and 
splendor,  all  were  desired  to  appear  in  their  court  cos- 
tumes. Crawford  was,  of  course,  especially  invited,  as 
both  conquerors  and  conquered  were  agreed  in  a  com- 
mon admiration  of  the  American  Government,  and  in 
the  desire  to  court  amicable  relations  through  its  repre- 
sentative in  France.  The  day  arrived,  and  was  distin- 
guished, among  other  things,  by  a  mirthful  incident  in 
connection  with  Crawford,  peculiarly  characteristic  of 
the  man  and  of  his  habits.  A  forgetfulness  of  small 
matters,  particularly  in  the  way  of  etiquette,  was  not 
the  least  distinguishable  trait  of  Crawford's  character. 
He  could  never  bring  his  mind  to  the  little  task  of  em- 
bracing all  the  minutia3  of  ceremony.  Accordingly,  at 
the  hour  designated,  Crawford  presented  himself  on  the 
promenade,  but  had  utterly  forgotten  to  don  his  court 
vestments.  He  appeared  in  the  ordinary  dress  of  a 


190  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

plain  American  citizen,  and  would  have  doubtless  failed, 
in  consequence  of  this  fact,  to  receive  the  attention  due 
to  his  rank,  but  for  an  act  of  artless  self-possession, 
which  eminently  demonstrated  his  republican  sense  and 
simplicity,  and  which  astonished  the  numerous  gaudily- 
apparelled  spectators.  It  so  happened  that  Crawford 
was  intimately  and  favorably  known  to  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  who  was  of  course  the  lion  of  the  day ;  and 
without  pausing  to  calculate  the  amount  of  infringe- 
ment on  the  stated  rules  of  etiquette,  he  adroitly  at- 
tached himself  to  the  suite  of  His  Grace,  by  whom  he 
was  received  with  genuine,  unaffected  English  hospi- 
tality. This  frank  recognition  on  the  part  of  the  old 
Iron  Duke,  who  had  as  little  taste  for  mere  peacock 
display  as  his  blundering  friend,  produced  a  burst  of 
applause  from  the  assembled  thousands  around ;  and 
that  which  was,  in  fact,  a  great  mistake  on  Crawford's 
part,  was  set  down  to  his  credit  as  a  very  harmless  but 
apt  exhibition  of  republican  simplicity,  designed  to  re- 
buke the  glare  and  glitter  of  royalty. 

In  the  August  ensuing  Crawford  threw  up  his  mis- 
sion and  returned  home.  He  had  failed  to  accomplish 
the  object  of  his  Government,  but  the  failure  did  not 
proceed  from  incapacity  or  negligence  on  his  part,  or 
from  any  causes  within  his  control.  Revolution  had 
followed  revolution  too  rapidly  to  admit  of  tardy  diplo- 
matic business.  France  was  in  a  continual  turmoil 
during  the  whole  period  of  his  residence  at  her  capital. 
Monarchs  and  ministers  and  governments  had  been 
changed  repeatedly  within  periods  so  short  as  to  re- 
semble more  the  flitting  pageantry  of  the  stage  than 
the  scenes  of  real  life  and  form.  He  had*  been  inter- 
rupted and  impeded  at  every  step  of  the  negotiations  ; 
and  what  progress  had  been  made  to-day  was  lost 
among  the  strifes  and  struggles  of  to-morrow's  revolu- 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  191 

lution.  Proj6ts  of  adjustment  and  of  explanation  would 
be  scarcely  formed  under  the  imperial  dynasty,  before 
the  storm  would  rise  as  the  ancient  regime  swept  on. 
ward  with  its  foreign  allies.  The  basis  of  a  treaty  re- 
cognized under  one  government  would  be  peremptorily 
disavowed  by  that  which  succeeded.  Crawford's  tem- 
perament was  not  suited  to  a  mild  endurance  of  such 
political  tergiversations  and  fickleness  on  the  part  of  the 
French  nation,  while  his  republican  notions  of  popular 
rights  were  daily  outraged  as  he  beheld  France  groan- 
ing under  the  sway  of  a  monarchy,  not  its  choice,  but 
imposed  on  it  by  allied  despots.  It  is  probable,  there- 
fore, that  disgust  rather  than  discouragement  induced 
him  to  demand  his  recall. 

Thus  was  lost  the  last  chance  of  ever  obtaining  a 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  secret  history  as  Concerned 
the  famous  counter  decree  of  April,  1811.  The  final 
overthrow  and  banishment  of  Napoleon,  the  ostracism 
of  his  ministry,  and  the  untimely  death  of  Joel  Barlow, 
closed  ah1  penetrable  avenues  to  its  elucidation ;  and  it 
will  probably  remain  ever  a  mystery  to  the  world,  un- 
less chance  or  some  posthumous  revelations,  yet  to  be 
made  public,  shall  unfold  and  explain  its  details.  We 
may  as  well  remark  also,  in  closing  this  period  of  Craw- 
ford's political  life,  that  our  claim  for  spoliations  of 
commerce  under  the  decrees  of  Berlin  and  Milan  was 
prosecuted,  amidst  vexatious  delays  and  despondences, 
under  many  succeeding  administrations  both  in  this 
country  and  in  France,  until,  at  last,  the  impetuous, 
resolute  course  of  President  Jackson  extorted  justice 
and  satisfaction  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  The  first 
instalment  was  paid  by  France  in  1836,  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  Louis  Philippe. 

Crawford  brought  home  with  him,  as  we  are  in- 
formed, not  a  very  elevated  opinion  of  French  charac- 


192  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

ter.  He  regarded  the  French  as  an  impulsive  and 
restless  people,  governed  less  by  judgment  or  reflec- 
tion than  by  enthusiasm.  He  esteemed  highly  the 
noble  qualities  and  genuine  patriotism  of  Lafayette  and 
his  compeers,  and  viewed  with  just  severity  the  ab- 
sence of  like  appreciative  tastes  on  the  part  of  their 
giddy-minded  countrymen.  The  ascendency  and  great 
popularity  of  Bonaparte  was  founded,  as  he  argued, 
not  so  much  in  real  attachment  and  healthful  admira- 
tion, as  in  morbidly-excited  passion,  and  in  pride  un- 
duly and  fatally  influenced  by  a  perverted  longing  for 
national  glory  and  aggrandizement.  He  denied  to  the 
French  people  the  possession  of  the  sound  discriminat- 
ing sense  and  sterling  qualities  of  character  which  so 
eminently  belong  to  the  English  and  the  Americans  in 
their  rational  capacity.  This  may  be  regarded,  by 
many,  as  a  harsh  and  overwrought  judgment.  We 
incline  to  think,  however,  that  those  who  judge  France 
by  the  sure  test  of  its  history  will  yield  a  concurrence 
of  sentiment.  The  prestige  of  great  military  fame,  and 
of  martial  deeds,  has  ever  allured  and  controlled  the 
admiration  and  affections  of  the  French  people,  from 
the  days  of  Clovis  and  Charlemagne  to  the  present 
time.  It  is  unquestionable,  we  think,  that  the  charge 
at  Lodi,  the  battle  of  the  Pyramids,  the  passage  of  the 
Alps,  the  victory  of  Marengo  and  its  splendid  results, 
did  more  to  endear  Napoleon  to  the  ardent  French- 
men, than  all  the  grand  achievements  of  his  civil  ad- 
ministration. 

The  works  of  Cherbourg,  the  magnificent  quays  and 
bridges  of  the  Seine,  the  spacious  docks  of  Antwerp 
and  of  Flushing,  the  maritime  works  of  Venice,  the 
passes  of  Simplon,  of  Mont  Cenis,  and  of  Mont  Genevre, 
which  open  up  the  Alps  in  four  directions,  exceed  in 
boldness,  grandeur,  and  art  any  thing  ever  attempted 


WILLIAM   II.    CEAWFOED.  193 

by  the  Romans ;  yet  it  is  not  going  too  far  to  say  that 
these  noble  monuments  of  genuis,  as  compared  with  the 
glories  of  Austerlitz  or  of  Jena,  form,  not  a  single  cor- 
nice of  the  broad  pedestal  of  affection  from  which  towers 
his  adored  image.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  a  man 
of  Crawford's  austere  constitution  and  sound  judgment 
could  sympathize  with  a  people  thus  supercilious  and 
vain.  He  had  no  tolerance  for  that  species  of  patriot- 
ism which  springs  from  man-worship,  and  which  burns 
only  at  the  shrine  of  military  renown.  It  was  enough 
to  fix  and  settle  his  opinion,  when  he  had  detected  the 
extreme  susceptibility  of  the  French  people  on  this 
point.  Their  chivalry,  their  bravery,  their  learning, 
their  numerous  unequalled  accomplishments,  were  all 
powerless,  in  his  view,  to  palliate  such  fatal  perversion 
of  taste  and  of  reason.  On  the  whole,  we  incline  to 
acquiesce  in  the  correctness  and  justness  of  his  opin- 
ions ;  though,  at  the  same,  time,  we  have  always  cher- 
ished, and  cherish  still,  a  very  high  admiration  of 
French  chivalry  and  generosity  of  character,  and  must 
award  to  them  the  palm  of  excellence  in  all  those  beau- 
tiful accomplishments  which  so  adorn  the  domestic  cir- 
cle, and  constitute  the  charm  of  society. 

Immediately  on  his  return  from  France,  Crawford 
was  appointed,  by  President  Madison,  Secretary  of  the 
War  Department.  His  distinguished  services  abroad 
had  justly  increased  his  popularity  with  the  people  of 
his  own  country,  and  his  reputation  as  a  statesman  rose 
to  its  zenith.  He  had  been,  for  many  years  anterior  to 
his  departure  for  France,  pre-eminently  the  leading 
member  of  the  Senate,  and  his  opinions  and  influence, 
as  we  have  already  seen,  had  not  only  given  tone  to 
the  politics  of  a  large  portion  of  the  country,  but  had 
actually  opened  the  way  to  the  formation  of  a  new 
party  organization,  that  seemed  likely  to  absorb  all  the 
9 


194  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

better  elements  of  both  the  Federal  and  Democratic 
parties,  as  also  to  reconstruct,  in  all  its  original  purity, 
the  true  Republican  party  of  l790-'92,  of  which  Wash- 
ington had  been  the  leader.  The  government  was  then 
in  its  chrysalis  state,  and  this  last-named  party  had 
been  formed  on  the  basis  laid  down  by  the  writers  of 
the  Federalist.  The  advocates  of  a  monarchical,  or 
strongest  form  of  government,  with  Hamilton  at  their 
head,  had  so  far  surrendered  their  original  opinions  as 
to  fall  into  its  ranks,  determined  to  test  fairly  and  fully 
the  present  Constitution.  The  Virginia  politicians, 
represented  by  Madison  and  John  Marshall,  and  the 
conservatives  of  New  York,  represented  by  John  Jay, 
formed  its  mam  pillar.  The  ultra  and  radical  Demo- 
crats had  not  then  been  gathered  into  that  fierce  and 
impracticable  phalanx  which  was  marshalled  and  con- 
troled,  a  few  years  afterwards,  by  Thomas  Jefferson, 
though  they  had  already  organized  upon  the  basis  of 
opposition  to  the  Constitution.  This  instrument  was 
adjudged  by  them  to  be  too  centralizing  and  latitudi- 
nous  in  its  main  features,  to  harmonize  with  their  crude 
notions  of  State  sovereignty  and  independence.  There 
were  many  who  desired  to  be  free  from  all  national 
government,  but  a  large  majority  decided  that  there 
must  be  some  permanent  confederation  of  the  States. 
The  discussion,  in  convention  and  in  the  public  papers, 
on  the  powers  to  be  given  and  the  powers  to  be  re- 
served, became  zealous  and  rancorous,  and  divided  the 
country  into  two  great  parties,  which  were  designated 
as  Federalists  and  Anti-Federalists.  The  first  favored 
a  strong  government,  and  the  last  insisted  upon  a  weak 
government,  or  rather,  no  government  at  all.  The 
general  sentiment  of  the  country  settled  upon  a  com- 
promise of  these  extreme  opinions.  Hamilton  and 
Madison  united  in  support  of  the  present  Constitution, 


WILLIAM   H.   CBAWFOED.  195 

and  the  Democrats  of  the  ultra  school  were  left  in  a 
hopeless  and  deserved  minority.  This  union  between 
these  two  great  men,  with  Washington  as  their  com- 
mon head,  formed  the  foundation  on  which  was  erected 
the  National  Republican  party.  The  high-toned  gov- 
ernmental theories  of  the  Federalists  were  so  attenu- 
ated and  modified  as  to  harmonize  with  the  conserva- 
tives of  the  Virginia  school,  although  the  latter  yielded 
many  of  the  ascetic  and  refined  tenets  of  their  sect. 

It  was  under  the  guidance  of  this  party  that  the 
Constitution  was  framed,  and  that  tho  government 
went  into  operation.  But  its  compactness  was  soon 
invaded.  The  dark  and  dangerous  principles  of  the 
French  revolution  began  to  sow  and  scatter  dissensions 
in  the  United  States.  Early  in  the  year  1793,  war  was 
declared  to  exist  between  England  and  France,  and  in- 
tense sympathy  was  excited  for  the  latter,  who  had  so 
recently  been  our  ally  and  faithful  benefactress  in  the 
war  against  the  former,  which  resulted  in  American 
independence.  The  proclamation  of  President  Wash- 
ington, under  date  of  the  18th  of  April,  asserting  neu- 
trality to  be  the  settled  policy  of  the  United  States, 
encountered  violent  opposition,  and  soon  led  to  a 
partial  disruption  and  reorganization  of  parties.  Under 
the  auspices  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  a  strong  French  party 
was  formed  in  this  country,  and  Philadelphia,  then  the 
residence  of  the  General  Government,  was  scandalized 
by  the  organization  of  Jacobin  clubs,  or  Democratic 
societies,  which  promulged  doctrines  subversive  of  the 
true  principles  of  the  Federal  Constitution,  and  de- 
structive to  healthy  political  sentiment.  About  the 
same  time  Hamilton  published  his  numbers  of  Pacificus, 
defending  the  executive  proclamation.  Madison,  now 
thoroughly  detached  from  his  late  associations  by  the 
influence  of  Jefferson,  answered  him  under  the  signa- 


196  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

ture  of  Helvidius.  This  controversy  between  the  chiefs 
of  the  constitutional  organization  of  1789-90,  effectually 
broke  up  the  composition  of  parties  which  originated 
at  that  date,  and  Madison  continued  steadfastly  to  co- 
operate with  the  Jeffersonians  until  the  era  of  1816. 
It  is  not  for  us  now  to  inquire  minutely  into  the  his- 
tory of  the  rival  factions  which  soon  sprang  up  after 
this  disruption  between  the  adherents  of  Jefferson  and 
the  elder  Adams.  The  former,  however,  carried  off 
with  them  the  designation  of  republicanism  ;  and 
through  the  prestige  of  this  name,  Jeffersonian  democ- 
racy acquired  an  influence  with  the  nation,  which  has, 
for  much  the  largest  portion  of  the  time,  controlled  its 
destiny  from  that  day  to  the  present.  But  the  inhe- 
rent, vital  energies  of  the  government,  combined  with 
every  natural  element  of  greatness,  as  also  with  the 
strong  collateral  influence  exerted  by  a  conservative 
national  party,  have  saved  the  institutions  of  the  coun- 
try from  a  contamination  of  Jacobinism,  which  other- 
wise might  have  been  fatal  to  their  health  and  exist- 
ence. 

It  was  to  this  original  republican  party,  formed  at 
a  time  when  patriotism  could  not  be  questioned,  and 
when  the  true  principles  and  spirit  of  the  Constitution 
could  not  be  mistaken,  that  Crawford  evidently  looked 
in  his  efforts  to  direct  the  current  and  composition  of 
party  organizations,  during  his  senatorial  career.  On 
his  return  from  France,  he  clearly  perceived  that  such 
a  party  had  again  assumed  shape,  and,  under  the  lead 
of  master  minds,  was  rapidly  advancing  to  influence 
and  popularity.  The  Hartford  Convention  had  drawn 
down  upon  the  factious  remnant  of  the  old  Federal 
party  a  weight  of  infamy  and  obloquy  from  which  it 
could  not  recover,  and  the  lapse  of  a  few  years  wit- 
nessed its  final  extinction.  The  Democrats  had  been 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  197 

seriously  confused  and  disjointed  by  the  events  of  a 
war  which,  although  begun  and  carried  on  under  their 
immediate  auspices,  had  evidently  demonstrated  the 
inefficiency  and  impracticability  of  their  political  theo- 
ries and  experiments.  They  had  been  forced  to  aban- 
don their  absurd  and  silly  preference  for  the  gun-boat 
system  of  Jefferson,  and  to  build  up  and  rely  upon  an 
efficient  naval  system,  such  as,  years  before,  had  been 
recommended  and  advocated  by  Hamilton  and  John 
Adams.  They  were  now  forced,  at  the  close  of  that 
war,  to  withdraw  their  opposition  to  the  establishment 
of  a  National  Bank,  and  even  to  yield  their  constitu- 
tional opinions.  Their  leading  champion  of  1811, 
Henry  Clay,  who  had  then  done  more  to  defeat  Craw- 
ford's Bank  bill  than  any  other  senator,  had  openly 
changed  his  opinions,  and  was  now  in  favor  of  the  im- 
mediate charter  of  such  an  institution.  Calhoun  re- 
ported a  bill  to  that  effect  early  in  the  year  1816,  and 
declared  that  a  bank  only  was  adapted  to  meet  the 
financial  exigency,  although  he  had  been  raised  in  the 
strictest  sect  of  Jeffersonism.  Madison  himself  surren- 
dered a  long-continued  opposition,  signed  the  charter, 
and  made  Crawford,  its  principal  advocate,  his  Secre- 
tary of  the  Treasury.  In  addition  to  this,  they  were 
driven  to  incorporate  high  protective  features  in  the 
adjustment  of  the  tariff  of  1816,  and  that,  too,  not  in- 
cidentally, but  directly,  and  in  so  many  words,  if  the 
speeches  of  Calhoun,  and  others  of  its  advocates  can  be 
admitted  as  proof  of  the  fact.  The  war  had  depressed 
all  the  industrial  pursuits  of  the  country,  and  these 
called  too  loudly  for  aid  and  protection  at  its  close,  to 
allow  politicians  to  take  shelter  behind  mere  fastidious 
constitutional  scruples,  or  selfish  partisan  policy.  The 
emergency  required  enlarged  and  liberal  legislation, 
such  as  was  adapted  to  the  growing  importance  of  a 


198  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

great  nation,  and  would  prove  the  beneficence  and 
practicability  of  our  system  of  government.  The 
statesmen  of  that  day  met  the  crisis  boldly,  and  the 
crude  theories  of  the  Jeffersonian  school  (ever  more 
taught  than  practised,  even  by  their  founder)  received 
a  decided  check  and  rebuke  at  the  very  moment  that 
the  ancient  monster  of  Federalism  was  finally  beaten 
down  and  smothered.  It  was  just  the  time  to  indoc- 
trinate public  sentiment  with  the  safer,  more  reliable, 
and  more  vigorous  constitutional  theories  which  had 
been  already  foreshadowed  and  indicated  by  Crawford's 
great  speech,  in  1811.  It  was  just  the  time,  too,  to 
erect  a  purer  and  more  efficient  party.  There  was  a 
sufficiency  of  conservative  material  to  be  found  in  both 
the  Democratic  and  Federal  ranks,  to  form  such  party, 
without  incorporating  the  radicalism  of  the  first,  or  ab- 
sorbing the  rancorous  elements  which  distinguished  the 
last.  The  fruit  of  these  events  was  the  construction  of 
the  National  Whig  party,  which,  having  thus  taken 
root,  gradually  emerged  into  activity  and  compact- 
ness ;  and  for  the  twelve  succeeding  years,  its  health- 
ful and  invigorating  influence  imparted  a  tone  and  be- 
neficence to  the  administrative  policy  of  the  country, 
which  induced  unparalleled  prosperity,  and  which  placed 
the  United  States  in  the  class  of  the  world's  greatest 
nations.  Nor  was  this  influence  entirely  effaced  even 
by  the  whirlwind  of  radical  democracy,  which  tore 
through  the  land  during  the  administration  of  Jack- 
son ;  although  the  lustre  of  a  military  fame,  too  daz- 
zlingly  illustrated  in  the  achievements  of  that  victori- 
ous hero,  not  to  win  popularity  among  a  grateful  and 
chivalrous  people,  at  any  hazard  to  national  interests, 
had  well  nigh  totally  obscured  its  milder  radiance, 
while  it  did  for  ever  eclipse  and  mar  the  political  for- 
tunes of  the  prominent  Whig  leaders. 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  199 

As  the  Presidential  term  of  Mr.  Madison  was  now 
drawing  to  its  close,  the  eye  of  the  nation  was  directed 
to  James  Monroe  as  his  successor.  But  the  leading 
politicians  of  the  party  to  which  both  Monroe  and 
Crawford  belonged,  did  not  pretend  to  disguise  their 
preference  for  the  latter.  Crawford  peremptorily  de- 
clined ;  but  when  the  Congressional  caucus  assembled, 
and  proceeded  to  ballot  for  a  nominee,  Monroe  ob- 
tained only  a  few  more  votes  than  Crawford,  notwith- 
standing this  prompt  declination.  This  result  was  ex- 
actly what  it  should  have  been.  Crawford  possessed 
and  showed  more  discernment  as  well  as  more  disin- 
terestedness than  his  friends.  The  pertinacity  of  these 
was  both  impolitic  and  untasteful.  Monroe  was  much 
the  more  experienced,  both  as  a  man  and  a  statesman, 
had  served  with  credit  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  and 
was  evidently  the  choice,  as  also  the  favorite  of  the 
nation.  It  may  be  true,  as  Mr.  Dudley  says  in  the 
sketch  before  us,  that  "  it  has  often  been  confidently 
asserted  by  a  great  number  of  experienced  politicians 
of  that  day,  that  if  Crawford  had  permitted  his  name 
to  have  been  put  in  nomination  at  that  tune,  he  might 
have  been  elected  with  perfect  ease."  We  even  think 
it  is  probable,  from  all  we  have  heard,  that  Crawford 
might  have  been  of  such  opinion  himself.  Still,  we 
cannot  agree  that  such  hypothesis  will  quite  bear  out 
Mr.  Dudley's  inference,  when  he  says,  that  "  the  event 
showed  the  influence  of  such  a  nomination,  as  it  re- 
sulted in  the  election  of  Mr.  Monroe."  It  is  our  opin- 
ion that  the  nomination  would  not  have  resulted  in  the 
election  of  Crawford ;  for  the  reason  that  we  do  not 
believe,  under  the  circumstances,  that  the  people  would 
have  been  satisfied  with  such  nomination.  There  is 
abundant  reason  to  believe,  in  view  of  what  we  have 
stated,  that  electoral  tickets  would  have  been  formed 


200  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED. 

for  Monroe,  despite  the  caucus  nomination  of  Craw- 
ford. Besides  his  long  experience  and  revolutionary 
claims,  Monroe  had  lately  won  upon  the  affections  of 
the  people  by  superadding  to  the  arduous  duties  of  the 
State  Department  those  of  the  Department  of  War, 
and  through  this  had  directed  the  latter  operations  of 
our  arms  to  a  brilliant  and  triumphant  close.  There 
would  have  been  great  difficulty  in  resisting  such  ap- 
peals as  these,  before  a  nation  whose  first  impulse  has 
always  been  to  reward  with  civic  honors  those  who 
have  gained  even  a  moiety  of  military  fame.  The  su- 
perior qualifications  of  Crawford  as  a  statesman  would 
not  have  weighed  in  the  balance  with  Monroe's  mili- 
tary prestige,  inconsiderable  as  it  was,  when  compared 
with  the  dignity  of  the  award  which  he  was  about  to 
receive  from  the  popular  voice.  NOT  has  the  "  event " 
always  showed  that  a  caucus  nomination  "  resulted  in 
the  election  "  of  the  nominee.  Eight  years  later  than 
this,  Crawford  did  receive  the  caucus  nomination  for 
President,  and  yet  he  barely  obtained  a  sufficiency  of 
electoral  votes  to  find  his  way  to  the  House  of  Repre- 
sentatives with  Jackson  and  John  Quincy  Adams. 

On  the  fourth  day  of  March,  1817,  James  Monroe 
succeeded  James  Madison  as  President  of  the  United 
States.  He  immediately  tendered  the  office  of  Secre- 
tary of  the  Treasury  to  Crawford,  and  the  tender  was 
accepted.  For  many  years  afterward,  we  lose  sight  of 
him  as  an  active  politician.  The  labors  of  a  ministerial 
office  are  wholly  incompatible  with  party  intriguings. 
Its  incumbent  is  removed  from  the  sphere  of  political 
attraction,  and  is  measurably  overshadowed.  Conse- 
quently, we  are  wholly  unable  to  trace  our  distinguish- 
ed subject  in  connection  with  the  numerous  important 
and  startling  questions  which  arose  during  Monroe's 
administration,  nor  do  we  find  such  connection  even  so 


WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOED.  201 

much  as  hinted  at  in  the  sketch  of  Mr.  Dudley.  We 
do  not  think  that  it  is  unreasonable  to  find  some  fault 
with  such  omission.  Nobody  can  doubt  that  Mr.  Dud- 
ley is  possessed  of  all  such  information ;  and,  in  view 
of  the  national  character  of  his  illustrious  relative,  we 
can  see  no  good  reason  why  he  should  have  withheld 
such  from  the  public.  The  public  have  a  right  to  know 
all  that  can  be  known  of  the  political  connections  of 
such  men  as  Crawford.  It  is  the  duty  of  those  who  do 
know  to  make  all  such  known,  especially  when,  in  re- 
sponse to  a  public  call,  they  essay  a  biographical  sketch. 
But  there  is  a  cogent  and  special  reason  why  we  regret 
that  Mr.  Dudley  should  not  have  been  more  explicit. 
It  was  during  the  last  term  of  Monroe's  presidency 
that  the  policy  of  the  United  States  respecting  foreign 
nations  was  so  elaborately  discussed.  It  was  then  that 
the  doctrine  of  intervention  was  so  seriously  mooted 
among  American  statesmen,  and  measured  by  prece- 
dent and  by  the  terms  of  the  Federal  Constitution. 
The  struggle  of  the  Greeks  and  of  the  South  American 
republics  elicited  then  deep  interest  in  this  country. 
Hungary  and  other  European  nations  form  now  the 
basis  of  much  political  sentiment  among  the  people  of 
the  United  States,  and  there  is  an  evident  tendency  to 
depart  from  the  safe  maxims  of  the  early  fathers  of  the 
republic,  and  to  change  the  policy  of  the  government. 
The  opinions  of  such  men  as  Crawford  on  such  ques- 
tions, and  in  times  like  the  present,  would  doubtless 
exert  efficient  and  salutary  influence  on  a  great  portion 
of  the  public  mind.  We  cannot  doubt  that  these  opin- 
ions were  in  accordance  with  the  policy  of  Washing- 
ton's proclamation  in  1793,  though  there  existed  con- 
siderable differences  in  the  Monroe  Cabinet  on  this 
subject.  We  know  that  John  Quincy  Adams  was 
quite  latitudinous,  and  that  Calhoun  was  very  conserv- 


202  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFORD. 

ative.  The  President  himself  had  no  settled  opinion, 
if  we  may  judge  either  by  his  language,  his  policy, 
or  the  conflicting  testimony  of  Adams  and  Calhoun. 
Each  member  of  his  Cabinet,  it  would  seem,  puts  a 
different  construction  on  his  language,  and  holds  a  dif- 
ferent interpretation  of  his  motives  and  his  policy; 
whilst  Hayne,  of  South  Carolina,  did  not  hesitate,  in 
after  years,  to  charge  the  language  of  Monroe  as  being 
non-committal,  and  as  having  been  employed  merely  in 
the  nature  of  a  ruse  de  guerre.  But  history,  of  what- 
ever description,  is  silent  as  concerns  the  opinions  of 
Crawford.  The  only  clue  to  these  is  to  be  vaguely 
gathered  from  the  acts  and  movements  of  his  prominent 
friends  in  Congress.  Taking,  of  these,  Macon,  Ran- 
dolph, Van  Buren,  and  Cobb  of  Georgia,  and  such  test 
would  easily  unfold  his  sentiments  and  views. 

Crawford  served  as  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  dur- 
ing the  entire  period  of  Monroe's  presidency.  We  can 
add  nothing  to  what  Mr.  Dudley  has  so  well  said  of 
this  period  of  his  career,  and  shall  therefore  dismiss 
this  branch  of  the  subject  by  quoting  that  gentleman's 
language : — 

"  Much  of  the  period  during  which  Mr.  Crawford  acted  as  Secre- 
tary of  the  Treasury,"  says  Mr.  Dudley,  "  times  were  very  doubtful ; 
our  domestic  relations  embarrassed,  pecuniary  difficulties  pressing 
upon  the  people,  home  and  foreign  commerce  fluctuating,  commercial 
capital  deranged,  a  public  debt  to  be  managed,  and,  above  all,  a  mis- 
erably depreciated  and  ruined  currency,  had  to  be  dealt  with.  The 
political  essayists  of  those  days  agreed  that  it  required  ceaseless  vigi- 
lance and  profound  ability  to  preserve  the  national  estate  from  bank- 
ruptcy. But  the  public  credit  was  never  better  at  any  period  of  the 
republic  than  during  his  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  Trea- 
sury. The  national  debt  was  faithfully  discharged,  and  the  burdens 
of  government  upon  the  people  were  light  and  inconsiderable.  At 
the  time  of  the  greatest  difficulty  the  estimated  and  actual  receipts  of 
the  Treasury  only  varied  ten  per  cent.,  while  the  estimates  of  his  dis- 
tinguished predecessors  had  varied  from  seventeen  to  twenty-four  per 


WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOKD.  203 

cent.  But  the  best  evidence  of  his  fidelity,  zeal,  and  ability  as  a 
Cabinet  officer  in  this  department,  was  the  length  of  time  he  served ; 
the  unbounded  confidence  reposed  in  him  by  Mr.  Madison  and  Mr. 
Monroe,  during  the  whole  period  of  his  service ;  the  great  interest 
manifested  for  his  retention  in  that  office  by  Mr.  Gallatin,  and  Mr.  J. 
Q.  Adams'  opinion  of  his  merit,  as  evinced  in  his  tendering  him  that 
office  during  his  administration.  Such  men  are  rarely  deceived  in 
their  estimate  of  character  and  qualifications." 

An  almost  unnatural  lull  in  political  strife  followed 
on  the  election  of  Monroe,  and  party  dissensions  and 
animosities  ceased  to  disturb  the  course  of  legislation 
for  many  years.  The  President  himself  owned  no  dis- 
tinctive party  creed.  A  majority  of  his  Cabinent  were 
Republicans,  though  not  allied  with  the  Jeffersonian  or 
Democratic  school,  further  than  by  association.  The 
Secretary  of  the  Navy  rather  inclined  to  the  Federal 
tenets,  while  Mr.  Calhoun  inclined  to  the  Democratic, 
though  his  course  of  action  in  Congress  had  been  widely 
variant  from  the  ascetic  teachings  of  that  sect.  In  both 
Houses  of  Congress,  the  Republicans  of  the  Crawford 
school  of  politics  were  in  a  decided  majority,  controlled 
the  legislation  of  the  country,  and  were  under  the  lead 
of  Henry  Clay.  They  were  not  then,  nor  for  many 
years  afterward,  known  by  the  name  or  appellation  of 
Whigs.  The  absence  of  all  acrimonious  party  strife, 
consequent  on  the  extinction  of  the  Federal  party,  and 
the  dismemberment  of  the  original  Democratic  party, 
rendered  it  unnecessary  to  assume  any  distinctive  ap- 
pellation. Still  they  acted  steadily  together,  in  oppo- 
sition alike  to  the  extremes  of  Federalism  and  of  De- 
mocracy, respectively  represented  on  the  floor  of  Con- 
gress by  Rufus  King  and  John  Randolph;  and  the 
great  American  system  progressed  gradually  to  a  happy 
consummation.  There  was  a  vitality  and  an  energy 
then  discernible  in  the  legislation  of  Congress,  which 


204  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED. 

diffused  life  and  spirit  into  all  departments  of  business. 
The  nation  looked  to  its 'government  for  proper  encour- 
agement and  relief  under  the  yet  depressing  influences 
of  the  wa£,  and  soon  the  whole  country  smiled  with 
prosperity,  and  gave  token  of  speedy  release  from  the 
thraldom  of  cramped  legislation.  The  spirit  of  the  age 
brooked  no  fastidious  obstruction.  Even  when  the  Ex- 
ecutive halted  and  wavered,  the  majority  of  Congress 
came  off  victorious  from  every  trial  of  strength  between 
them.  The  black  clouds  arising  from  the  Missouri 
question,  in  1820,  shed  a  passing  gloom  over  the  bright 
prospect ;  but  patriotism  triumphed  over  fanaticism, 
though  not  without  an  unwary  sacrifice.  The  internal 
health  of  the  country  otherwise  was  never  so  great ; 
and  it  is  a  fact  worthy  of  notice,  that  this  very  period, 
when  genuine  Whig  policy  and  principles  were  de- 
cidedly in  the  ascenadnt,  is  now  looked  back  to  by 
all  parties  as  the  age  of  good  feeling  and  of  golden 
times. 

But  the  elements  of  strife  were  not  long  wanting. 
The  great  Presidential  contest  of  1824  afforded  ample 
material  with  which  to  reconstruct  a  system  of  party 
warfare,  although  it  is  remarkable  that  no  solitary  po- 
litical principle  was  involved  in  the  contest.  There 
was  no  attempt  to  keep  up,  but  every  effort  to  keep 
down,  old  party  organizations.  The  Federal  party,  as 
we  have  already  remarked,  had  been  extinguished. 
The  Democratic  party  had  been  dismembered.  It  had 
become  rude  and  unfashionable  to  couple  the  name  of 
Federalist  with  that  of  any  gentleman.  A  Democrat 
was  considered  no  better  than  a  Jacobin.  The  words 
were  never  heard  in  political  circles.  It  was  almost 
impossible  to  draw  a  line  of  distinction  between  the 
aspiring  politicians,  or  to  set  up  any  distinctive  party 
standard  by  which  to  judge  their  opinions.  Old  mea- 


WILLIAM   H.    CKATVTOED.  205 

sures  and  the  divisions  they  had  occasioned  had  passed 
away.  New  measures,  under  entirely  new  and  variant 
circumstances,  had  been  brought  forward ;  yet  nothing 
is  more  true,  as  we  have  already  intimated,  than  that 
all  the  leading  measures  of  Congress  were  of  the  genu- 
ine Whig  stamp,  that  they  involved  the  same  princi- 
ples of  interpretation,  and  required  the  same  course  of 
argument  in  their  defence,  that  Whigs  have  used  for 
the  past  twenty  years. 

It  will  readily  suggest  itself  to  every  mind,  that  a 
contest  for  the  Presidency,  under  such  circumstances, 
would  be  resolved  wholly  into  a  contest  of  mere  per- 
sonal preference  among  the  people.  The  original  can- 
didates were  John  Quincy  Adams,  William  H.  Craw- 
ford, John  C.  Calhoun,  and  Henry  Clay.  There  being 
no  party  differences  between  them,  the  strife  became 
one  of  a  peculiarly  fierce  and  acrimonious  character. 
It  was  soon  exasperated  and  rendered  more  furious  by 
the  unexpected  and  unwelcome  appearance  of  a  fifth 
competitor,  in  the  person  of  an  illustrious  military  chief- 
tain, whose  hot  temperament  and  passionate  energies 
were  not  likely  to  soften  the  asperity  of  the  contest. 
This  was  Andrew  Jackson.  His  appearance  on  the 
field  was  at  once  productive  of  two  most  important 
events.  It  caused  the  prompt  withdrawal  of  Calhoun, 
who  became  the  candidate  for  Vice  President  on  the 
Jackson  ticket,  and  materially  weakened  the  prospects 
of  Henry  Clay,  by  dividing  the  preferences  of  the  West. 
Jackson  had  been  a  senator  and  representative  in  Con- 
gress, but  had  not  taken  even  a  respectable  stand  as  a 
politician.  It  was  quite  common  to  ridicule  his  aspira- 
tions for  the  Presidency  as  being  mere  mockery.  His 
nomination  was  generally  considered  too  absurd  to 
have  been  made  in  good  faith.  It  would  not  at  first 
be  credited  that  a  man  notoriously  deficient  in  educa- 


206  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFORD. 

tion,  so  uninformed  as  to  the  duties  of  a  civilian  as  to 
have  resigned  several  offices  with  the  frank  admission 
of  incompetency,  fonder  of  sport  than  of  study,  and 
whose  training  had  been  mainly  hi  the  camp  or  on  the 
frontier,  would  be  seriously  urged  for  the  first  office  in 
the  Republic,  on  the  single  merit  of  one  fortunate  bat- 
tle. Those  great  qualities  of  mind,  or  rather  of  will, 
which  afterwards  made  him  the  most  popular  and  pow- 
erful ruler  that  ever  wore  the  executive  mantle,  which 
commanded  the  worship  of  his  friends  and  the  admira- 
tion of  his  opponents,  and  which  identified  the  Ameri- 
can name  and  nation  with  his  own  strong  and  heroic 
character,  were  not  then  known  to  the  nation.  His 
only  claim  to  office  was  based  upon  the  victory  of  New 
Orleans ;  and  this  alone  made  him  formidable,  and  gave 
him  a  decided  advantage  over  his  three  competitors. 

With  such  fearful  odds  against  them,  the  friends  of 
the  other  candidates  sought  now  to  make  favor  with 
the  people,  by  endeavoring  to  prove  eac.h  that  their 
candidate  was,  par  excellence,  the  true  Republican  can- 
didate. Crawford's  partisans  did  not  stop  at  this. 
They  sought  to  obtain  a  more  thorough  advantage  by 
procuring  for  him  a  regular  caucus  nomination,  accord- 
ing to  the  ancient  usages  of  the  party.  It  is  to  be  re- 
marked, in  this  connection,  that  Crawford  numbered 
in  the  ranks  of  his  followers  a  greater  proportion  of  the 
old  Jeffersonian  Democrats  than  either  Adams  or  Clay, 
notwithstanding  his  known  liberal  opinions.  These, 
considering  themselves  as  the  true  standards  of  genuine 
Republican  orthodoxy,  insisted  on  assembling  a  caucus, 
although  they  were  seriously  opposed.  They  would 
not  listen,  when  reminded  that,  Federalism  having  long 
ceased  an  organized  opposition,  such  a  course  was  not 
now  necessary  to  secure  the  ascendency  of  the  Repub- 
lican party.  They  grew  intolerant  when  told  that  such 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFOBD.  207 

a  resort  to  party  machinery,  in  the  absence  of  all  the 
higher  motives  for  combination,  was  the  evidence  of 
an  endeavor  only  to  subserve  the  purposes  of  faction, 
and  to  give  an  undue  advantage  where  none  was  really 
deserved.  They  persisted  in  their  resolve,  and  called 
together  their  caucus,  on  the  14th  of  February.  The 
movement  resulted  in  an  entire  failure.  Out  of  two 
hundred  and  sixty-one  members  of  Congress,  only 
sixty-four  attended  the  meeting  in  person,  and  there 
were  two  proxies.  Crawford,  of  course,  received  the 
nomination.  Sixty-four  out  of  the  sixty-six  votes  were 
cast  for  his  name ;  but  more  than  half  of  these  were 
from  Virginia,  Georgia,  and  New  York.  No  one  will 
contend  that  such  a  nomination  was  entitled  to  any 
great  authority  or  weight.  It  could  scarcely  make 
pretension  to  even  full  and  fair  party  organization, 
much  less  to  nationality.  But  its  contrivers  claimed 
for  it  all  these,  proclaimed  it  as  the  regular  nomination, 
and  invoked  all  true  Republicans  to  respect  and  sustain 
it  as  such.  The  responses,  however,  were  far  from 
equalling  their  expectations ;  and  we  think  that  it  will 
now  be  readily  conceded  that  the  movement  rather 
injured  than  benefited  Crawford's  prospects  for  the 
Presidency.  It  is  certain  that  many  of  his  devoted 
and  confidential  friends  inclined  to  such  opinion,  and 
among  others,  one  whose  letters  now  lie  before  us, 
written  at  the  time  of  which  they  speak.  This  was 
Thomas  W.  Cobb,  then  one  of  the  senators  from  Geor- 
gia. He  was  recognized  as  the  most  intimate  and  fa- 
vored of  Crawford's  personal  associates,  and  was  bound 
to  him  by  every  tie  of  admiration  and  gratitude.  He 
was  attached  to  Crawford's  party  not  only  from  princi- 
ple, but  from  affection  for  its  head.  From  the  time  of 
Crawford's  nomination  to  the  day  when  defeat  and 
disease  consigned  him  to  premature  retirement,  Cobb 


208  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

embarked  in  his  cause  with  a  zeal  that  never  flagged 
or  abated,  and  pressed  his  claims  with  almost  frantic 
fervor.  He  mourned  his  overthrow  with  a  grief  more 
akin  to  personal  devotion  than  political  attachment; 
and  imbibing,  doubtless  from  this  cause,  a  settled  dis- 
taste for  public  life,  soon  afterwards  threw  up  his  sena- 
torial commission,  and  retired  with  his  friend  to  the 
quiet  of  private  life. 

It  is  clear,  from  the  tenor  of  this  gentleman's  letters, 
that  the  Crawford  caucus  had  not  been  followed  by 
such  auspicious  demonstrations  as  hope  had  flattered 
his  friends  to  expect.  He  now  writes  to  one  of  his 
friends,  Dr.  Meriwether,  that  the  caucus  had  not  been 
productive  of  very  favorable  manifestations.  In  fact, 
this  movement  seems  to  have  drawn  down  upon  the 
Crawford  party  the  concentrated  and  increased  bitter- 
ness of  both  the  Clay  and  Calhoun  factions,  while  it 
gained  them  no  additional  strength  among  the  partisans 
of  Adams.  Notwithstanding  that  Calhoun  had  openly 
declined  for  the  Presidency,  the  newspapers  favorable 
to  his  election  still  kept  his  name  up  in  connection  with 
that  office,  with  the  evident  intention,  as  Cobb  writes, 
to  prevent  his  supporters  from  going  over  to  Crawford 
ere  the  coalition  with  Jackson  had  been  definitely 
effected.  The  caucus  movement  was  received  with 
approbation  only  in  the  States  of  Virginia  and  Georgia. 
North  Carolina  was  not  so  decided,  though  Macon's 
influence  in  that  State  was  considered  sufficient  to 
secure  its  vote.  There  had  never  been,  even  before 
the  caucus,  any  doubts  as  to  the  preference  of  Georgia 
for  Crawford.  In  Virginia  he  was  equally  popular. 
But  in  New  York  the  result  was  very  different,  and  the 
caucus  met  with  decided  opposition,  notwithstanding 
the  efforts  and  influence  of  Martin  Van  Buren.  Van 
Buren  was  considered  one  of  the  most  dexterous  party 


WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED.  209 

managers  of  that  day  and  time.  His  success  with  the 
people  of  New  York  caused  him  to  be  regarded  with 
deep  interest  by  the  various  candidates  for  the  Presi- 
dency. He  was  at  first  understood  to  own  some  prefer- 
ence for  Adams,  but  his  final  decision  was  in  favor  of 
Crawford.  There  was  much  and  varied  conjecture  in 
connection  with  this  decision  at  the  time,  even  among 
the  political  friends  of  the  parties.  Crawford  had  a 
comprehensive  and  sagacious  eye,  and  could  read  men 
with  as  much  accuracy  as  most  other  politicians.  Being 
at  the  head  of  a  dominant  and  powerful  party  in  Geor- 
gia, he  resolved  upon  a  stroke  of  policy  which,  un- 
seemly as  it  might  and  did  appear  even  to  his  own 
friends,  it  was  hoped  might  win  to  his  support  the  great 
State  of  New  York.  This  was  none  other  than  the 
nomination  of  Van  Buren  for  the  Vice  Presidency  by 
the  State  of  Georgia.  The  project  was  no  sooner  made 
known  than  carried  out,  for  Crawford's  wish  was  law 
to  his  party  in  that  State.  The  nomination  was  made 
reluctantly  by  the  Crawford  party,  and  was  received 
with  laughter  and  ridicule  by  his  old  enemies  and  op- 
ponents hi  Georgia,  the  Clarkites.  The  act  appeared 
so  ill-timed  and  so  barefaced,  in  view  of  Van  Buren's 
then  obscure  pretensions,  that  the  term  "  Vice  President 
Van"  was  jocosely  bandied  at  every  corner,  and  soon 
Became  a  bye-word  and  slang  expression.  Long  and 
cruelly  did  the  Clarkites  use  it  as  such  against  the 
Crawford  party.  As  an  amusing  illustration  of  this, 
when  the  next  General  Assembly  of  the  State  convened, 
the  Clarkites,  being  in  a  decided  minority,  kept  Van 
Buren  as  their  standing  candidate  for  all  the  lower 
order  of  appointments,  with  no  other  design  than,  by 
thus  showing  their  contempt  for  the  nomination,  to 
annoy  their  sensitive  opponents.  There  are  many  now 
living  who  may  remember  with  a  smile  the  description 


210  WILLIAM  H.    CRAWFORD. 

of  tickets  that  were  exhibited  and  read  out  on  such  oc- 
casions. They  had  Van  Buren  caricatured  on  them  in 
every  possible  form.  Sometimes  it  was  a  half  man 
joined  to  a  half  cat,  then  half  fox  and  half  monkey,  or 
half  snake  and  half  mink — all  bearing  some  resemblance 
to  the  object  of  ungenerous  and  indecent  satire.  He 
was  designated  on  them  as  "Blue  Whiskey  Van," 
"  Little  Van,"  "  Vice  President  Van,"  and  many  other 
nicknames,  far  more  disgraceful  to  the  perpetrators 
than  disparaging  to  Van  Buren.  It  proved  to  be  the 
more  disgraceful  to  them  from  the  fact  that,  in  a  few 
years  subsequently,  the  caricaturists  and  satirists  turned 
to  be  the  cringing  partisans  of  him  they  had  thus  as- 
saulted. 

But  the  policy  (whether  intended  as  mere  policy  or 
a  legitimate  party  manoeuvre)  did  not  succeed.  The 
nomination  of  Georgia  for  the  Vice  Presidency  met 
with  no  response.  New  York  proved  obdurate  and 
refractory,  and  showed  signs  of  wavering  between  Ad- 
ams and  Clay.  The  Crawford  party  grew  desperate, 
and  began  bitterly  to  accuse  and  denounce  Henry 
Clay.  Macon,  Cobb,  and  others  laid  to  his  charge  all 
the  injuries  and  reverses  they  had  sustained  in  New 
York.  But  Van  Buren  did  not  despair  of  carrying  the 
State  so  soon  as  his  party  friends.  He  was  not  one  to 
give  up  without  first  using  serious  and  zealous  efforts* 
to  effect  the  object  in  view.  "If  we  can  get  New 
York,"  said  Cobb,  "  we  shall  then  be  sure  of  Connecti- 
cut, New  Jersey,  and  Rhode  Island.  Without  New 
York,  we  are  lost."  This  opinion  was  known  to  Van 
Buren,  and  tending,  of  course,  to  confirm  him  in  the 
like  view,  he  went  to  work  to  secure  the  desired  object 
with  an  earnestness  and  adroitness  that  had  seldom 
failed  of  success  before.  There  is  no  question  but  that 
personal  attachment  to  Crawford,  as  well  as  the  usual 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  211 

allowance  of  political  ambition,  influenced  .Van  Buren 
on  this  occasion.  He  had  long  admired  Crawford,  and 
now,  in  the  hour  of  trial,  when  his  enemies  were  about 
to  triumph  over  his  defeat,  the  noble  exertions  and 
eminent  ability  he  brought  to  bear  in  the  endeavor  to 
save  and  secure  the  election  of  his  favorite,  must  ever 
excite  a  kind  remembrance  in  the  bosoms  of  Crawford's 
family  and  friends.  His  efforts,  at  one  time,  had  come 
very  near  the  point  of  success.  He  had  now  found  out 
that  Crawford  was  clearly  not  the  choice  of  the  people 
of  New  York.  Up  to  this  period,  the  electors  for 
President  in  New  York  had  been  nominated  by  the 
Legislature ;  and  it  was  in  the  Legislature  that  Van 
Buren  and  his  party,  certain  of  defeat  before  the  people, 
now  determined  to  take  refuge.  The  majority  of  the 
House  of  Representatives  was  against  Crawford.  His 
friends  carried  a  majority  to  the  Senate,  and  a  fierce 
contest  now  ensued.  The  people  were  clamorous  to 
take  into  their  own  hands  the  election  of  President. 
Consequently,  a  bill  to  that  effect  passed  the  lower 
House,  with  only  a  few  dissenting  voices.  The  Senate 
promptly  rejected  it,  when  sent  up  for  its  concurrence. 
Scenes  of  the  most  intense  and  rabid  excitement  fol- 
lowed, in  the  midst  of  which  the  Legislature  adjourned. 
Popular  resentment  rose  to  a  resistless  height,  and  the 
Governor  re-convoked  the  Legislature,  with  a  view 
that  the  will  of  the  people  might  be  expressed  and  exe- 
cuted. But  the  same  scene  was  re-enacted  with  the 
same  result.  The  Senate  again  defeated  the  bill,  and 
before  any  thing  was  done  to  meet  the  popular  demand, 
another  and  final  adjournment  occurred.  In  the  end, 
however,  the  people  carried  their  point.  The  mani- 
festations against  Crawford  had  been  too  decided ;  and 
when  the  nominations  were  made  by  the  Legislature, 
he  sustained  a  signal  and  crushing  overthrow. 


212  WILLIAM    H.    CKAWFOKD. 

This  result  abundantly  foreshadowed  the  grand 
finale,  so  far  as  Crawford  was  concerned,  especially 
when  taken  in  connection  with  another  untoward  event 
which  occurred  during  the  canvass,  and  which  put  a 
final  extinguisher  on  his  chances  for  election.  This 
event  was  a  sudden  and  violent  attack  of  paralysis, 
which  deprived  him  for  a  time  of  his  speech,  his  sight, 
and  the  use  of  some  of  his  limbs,  and  which  so  shocked 
his  whole  nervous  system  as  seriously  to  impair  his 
memory  and  to  obscure  his  intellect.  This  sad  news 
effectually  depressed  the  spirits  of  his  friends,  whilst  it 
raised  the  hopes  of  his  enemies.  He  was  forced,  in 
consequence  of  this  affliction,  to  give  up  the  business 
of  his  office,  ceased  to  appear  in  public,  or  to-  receive 
any  but  select  company,  and  was  removed  to  a  delight- 
ful cottage  in  the  vicinity  of  Washington,  in  the  vain 
but  fond  hope  that  the  quiet  of  rural  life  and  the  purer 
breath  of  the  country  air  might  induce  a  speedy  conva- 
lescence. But  that  hope  was  never  fully  gratified. 
After  a  struggle  of  many  months,  his  speech,  to  a  great 
extent,  was  restored ;  he  regained  the  use  of  his  limbs, 
and  his  vision  was  slightly  improved.  But  the  great 
intellect  which  had  once  controlled  the  opinions  of  a 
nation,  and  had  made  his  name  famous  wherever  that 
nation  was  known,  had  been  blighted  to  a  degree  which 
human  skill  could  not  reach,  and  was  never  again  to 
return  with  its  original  strength  and  lustre. 

The  extreme  illness  of  Crawford  was  not  generally 
known,  and  the  canvass  was  carried  on  with  unabated 
warmth.  There  being  four  candidates  in  the  field,  it 
was  soon  ascertained  that  there  could  be  no  election  by 
the  people.  Adams  and  Jackson  ran  ahead,  but  for  a 
considerable  time  it  seemed  to  be  uncertain  whether, 
under  the  constitutional  provision,  Clay  or  Crawford 
would  get  to  be  the  third  candidate  before  the  House 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  213 

of  Representatives.  The  State  of  Louisiana  held  the 
die,  and  the  friends  of  Clay  confidently  expected  that 
it  would  be  thrown  in  his  favor.  But  their  calculations 
were  not  verified.  Jackson  and  New  Orleans  were  as- 
sociated by  a  common  glorious  link,  and  the  memory 
of  his  great  victory  turned  fortune  in  his  favor,  at  the 
very  moment  that  the  die  was  cast.  He  obtained  a 
majority  of  her  electoral  vote,  and  Clay  was  thus 
thrown  out  of  the  contest.  This  left  a  small  balance  in 
favor  of  Crawford,  who  now"  went  into  the  House  of 
Representatives  with  an  electoral  vote  nearly  two-thirds 
less  than  that  of  Jackson,  and  not  quite  one-half  that 
of  Adams. 

In  December,  1824,  Congress  met.  Washington 
was  the  scene  of  an  intense  excitement,  growing  out 
of  the  pending  election  for  President,  and  scarcely  a 
day  passed  that  some  new  phase  of  the  contest  did  not 
occur,  or  that  a  new  political  trump  was  not  turned  up. 
But  the  excitement  was  of  a  strictly  legitimate  charac- 
ter. No  threats  of  violence  by  force  of  arms  were  re- 
sorted to,  as  in  1801,  during  a  similar  contest  between 
Burr  and  Jefferson,  when  it  was  proclaimed,  on  the  au- 
thority of  Jefferson  himself,  that,  in  case  the  House 
should  defeat  his  election,  "  the  Middle  States  would 
arm."  Such  seditious,  Jacobinical  sentiments,  would 
not  have  been  tolerated  at  the  time  in  question.  But 
there  was  not  less  of  anxiety  or  of  interest.  The 
friends  of  all  three  candidates  were  alike  energetic,  and 
the  movements  of  each  party  were  watched  and  sifted 
with  sleepless  jealousy.  Not  a  step  could  he  taken, 
nor  a  proposal  made  by  one,  that  was  not  immediately 
traced  and  rebutted  by  the  others.  Nor  was  the  ex- 
citement confined  to  the  members  of  Congress.  Every 
citizen  of  Washington  was  an  electioneered  for  the  one 
party  or  the  other  in  some  shape,  and  every  visitor 


214  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

within  its  walls  was  an  active,  working  partisan.  The 
hotels  were  only  so  many  caucus  or  club-rooms,  in 
which  to  plan  and  direct  the  various  schemes  of  party 
procedure.  The  drawing-rooms  were  thronged  alike 
with  the  votaries  of  fashion  and  the  satellites  of  the  dif- 
ferent champions  ;  nor  were  these  limited  to  the  sterner 
sex.  The  theatre  was  monopolized  by  one  particular 
set  of  partisans  in  regular  turn,  as  the  most  proper 
place  for  a  public  demonstration;  but  the  artificial 
representations  of  the  stage  flagged  and  faded  before 
the  real  exhibitions  of  the  political  drama.  The  legis- 
lative business  of  Congress  received  little  or  no  atten- 
tion. The  members  thought  about  nothing,  talked 
about  nothing,  and  wrote  home  about  nothing  but  the 
Presidential  election.  Calculations  were  tortured  by 
each  party  into  results  suited  to  their  own  prospects  of 
success.  A  letter  written  by  Cobb  about  the  middle 
of  January,  to  a  friend  in  Georgia,  affords  a  striking 
illustration  of  these  illusory  calculations ;  and  being  a 
legitimate  link  in  the  history  of  its  time,  we  shall  quote 
from  it  at  some  length,  for  the  reader's  satisfaction : — 

"  Doubtless,  in  common  with  others,  you  feel  the  greatest  anxiety 
about  the  Presidential  election.  Recently,  few  changes  have  been 
manifested  on  that  subject.  Every  thing  has  depended,  and  does  de- 
pend^ on  the  course  which  the  Western  States  friendly  to  Mr.  Clay 
may  take.  Should  they  join  us,  even  to  the  number  of  two,  the  game 
is  not  desperate.  It  is  impossible  to  decide  with  certainty  whether 
they  will  do  so.  Their  conduct  has  been  extremely  mysterious  and 
doubtful.  At  one  time,  they  led  us  to  believe  they  would  unite  with 
us.  At  another,  they  are  antipodal.  Two  days  ago  we  received  the 
news  that  the  Kentucky  Legislature  had  instructed  their  representa- 
tives to  vote  for  Jackson.  This  information  has  brought  out  five  of 
them  who  will  do  so ;  the  others  (seven)  have  not  yet  declared.  Ohio 
is  divided,  but  this  morning  I  have  the  positive  declaration  of  one  of 
their  most  honest  and  intelligent  members,  that  they  have  determined 
not  to  vote  for  Jackson.  But  it  is  not  settled  how  they  will  go  be- 
tween Crawford  and  Adams.  The  objections  made  by  those  friendly 


WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD.  215 

to  us  in  both  Kentucky  and  Ohio  have  their  root  in  the  state  of  Craw- 
ford's health ;  and  as  an  honest  man  I  am  bound  to  admit  that, 
although  daily  improving,  it  affords  cause  for  objection.  He  is  very 
fat,  but  his  speech  and  vision  are  imperfect,  and  the  paralysis  of  his 
hand  continues.  His  speech  improves  slowly.  His  right  eye  is  so 
improved  that  he  sees  well  enough  to  play  whist  as  well  as  an  old 
man  without  spectacles.  His  hand  also  gets  stronger.  Yet  defect  in 
all  these  members  is  but  too  evident.  My  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Scott, 
has  not  positively  promised  to  support  him,  but  I  think  he  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  do  so.  So  also  do  I  think  of  Mr.  Rankin.  If,  how- 
ever, I  am  deceived  in  all  these  calculations  (in  which  I  think  I  am 
not),  General  Jackson  will  be  elected  on  the  first  ballot.  It  is  true, 
Maryland  and  Louisiana  are  now  said  to  be  divided,  but  I  doubt  not 
they  will  unite  on  Jackson,  which,  with  the  Western  States,  secures 
his  success,  inasmuch  as  he  would  have  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania, 
Maryland,  South  Carolina,  Alabama,  Mississippi,  Louisiana,  Tennes- 
see, Kentucky,  Indiana,  Illinois,  and  Missouri.  New  York  is  yet  set- 
tled for  no  one.  "We  count  sixteen,  certain.  We  want  two  to  make  a 
majority,  and  these  we  shall  get,  as  I  am  told  by  an  intelligent  mem- 
ber, Mr.  Clarke,  upon  whose  judgment  I  would  sooner  rely  than  on 
Van  Buren's. 

"  Should  one  or  two  Western  States  withhold  their  vote  from  Jack- 
son, Crawford's  election  is  probable.  The  New  England  States  are  in 
excessive  alarm.  We  have  told  them  that  Mr.  Adams  has  no  right  to 
calculate  on  any  support  from  us.  This  is  in  some  measure  true. 
Jackson's  strength  is  such  that  Adams  can  gain  nothing  from  him. 
The  Yankees  are  determined  that  a  President  shall  be  made. 

"  New  Jersey  is  willing  to  join  us,  if  success  becomes  probable, 
and  I  am  assured  that  five  out  of  six  of  New  England  will  do  so  too, 
when  Adams's  prospects  are  blasted.  Should  Crawford  be  elected,  it 
will  be  by  a  combination  of  Maine,  New  Hampshire,  Rhode  Island, 
Massachusetts,  Connecticut,  New  Jersey,  Delaware,  Virginia,  North 
Carolina,  Georgia,  Mississippi,  Missouri,  Kentucky  or  Ohio.  Dela- 
ware, Virginia,  North  Carolina,  and  Georgia  have  nailed  their  flag, 
and  will  sink  with  the  ship.  New  England,  if  they  wish  to  prevent 
the  election  of  Jackson  (and  they  say  they  do),  must  come  to  us,  for 
we  will  not  go  to  them.  Colonel  Benton  is  active  in  our  cause,  and 
is  likely  to  do  us  good.  Could  we  hit  upon  a  few  great  principles,  and 
unite  their  support  with  that  of  Crawford,  we  should  succeed  beyond 
doubt.  But  the  fact  is,  we  are  as  much  divided  as  any  other  people. 
On  the  whole,  I  do  not  feel  alarmed,  though  I  am  not  confident.  Here 


216  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFOED. 

the}''  call  me  croaker.     I  say  I  will  not  express  a  confidence  which  I 
do  not  feel." 


This  letter  speaks  for  itself,  and  unfolds  much  that 
is  interesting  in  connection  with  the  history  of  that 
memorable  contest.  Congress  had  now  been  more 
than  six  weeks  in  session,  and  yet  there  had  been  no 
developments  which  could  point  the  result,  even  to  the 
most  sagacious.  There  was,  indeed,  much  to  cause 
Cobb's  expression  of  "  mysterious  and  doubtful,"  be- 
cause, so  nicely  balanced  was  the  apparent  strength  of 
Adams  and  Crawford,  that  the  Clay  party  were  unable 
to  decide  which  would  prove  the  most  available  to  de- 
feat, by  a  united  movement,  the  election  of  Andrew 
Jackson.  Thus  much,  it  would  seem,  the  majority  had 
resolved  to  do  from  the  beginning  of  the  strife ;  but 
that  majority  was  scattered  among  three  distinct  and 
unfriendly  parties,  and  Clay  held  the  power  of  fixing 
the  desired  union.  On  him,  therefore,  as  is  well  known, 
all  eyes  were  eagerly  fastened.  It  was  known  that  he 
viewed  Jackson  with  unfeigned  distrust ;  that  he  had 
held  him  amenable  to  the  censure  of  Congress  for  law- 
less and  unconstitutional  conduct  as  an  officer  of  the 
army ;  that  he  never  hesitated  to  pronounce  him  to  be 
unfit  for  tjivil  office ;  and  that  he  had  already  expressed 
a  determination  not  to  vote  for  him.  Jackson  never 
expected  him  to  do  so,  and  with  his  usual  frankness  had 
caused  it  to  be  proclaimed  that  such  a  vote  by  Clay 
"  would  be  an  act  of  duplicity."  But  the  Legislature 
of  Kentucky  had  instructed  him  to  sustain  Jackson, 
and  the  Jackson  party,  therefore,  built  up  high  hopes. 
But  they  little  knew  the  man  with  whom  they  were  deal- 
ing, if  they  ever  supposed  that  such  instructions  would 
guide  him  any  further  than  they  might  comport  with 
his  own  judgment.  He  took,  and  has  ever  maintained 


WILLIAM   H.   CRAWFORD.  217 

the  ground  that  the  Legislature  had  no  right  to  instruct 
him,  and  that  he  felt  no  more  respect  for  such  instruc- 
tions coming  from  the  Legislature,  than  from  any  other 
assemblage  of  his  fellow-citizens.  Under  these  circum- 
stances, therefore,  he  was  forced  to  make  a  choice  be- 
tween Crawford  and  Adams.  Still,  the  friends  of  Jack- 
son did  not  cease  to  importune  him  with  their  efforts 
to  obtain  his  support  and  influence  for  their  favorite. 
It  has  even  been  shown  that  some  of  them  advised,  and 
recommended  an  arrangement  by  which  Clay  should 
be  tempted  -into  his  support  by  the  allurements  of  high 
office,  in  case  Jackson  was  made  President.  On  the 
contrary,  there  has  never  been  exhibited  the  least 
shadow  of  proof  that  the  friends  of  Adams  or  Crawford 
made  overtures  of  any  character  to  Clay  or  to  any  of 
his  friends.  That  both  of  these  were  anxious  to  secure 
his  co-operation  by  all  legitimate  means,  there  can  be 
no  doubt.  There  is  some  reason  to  think  that  Clay's 
inclination,  as  well  from  their  personal  as  political  asso- 
ciations, rather  impelled  him  to  a  preference  for  Craw- 
ford. But  his  stern  temperament  has  never  been 
warped  by  private  preference  contrary  to  his  sense  of 
public  duty.  His  disposition  is  marked  rather  with  the 
severe  attributes  of  Roman  character,  than  with  the 
flexile  impulses  of  the  softer  tempered  Greek. 

We  have  seen  already  that  Crawford's  health  was 
extremely  precarious,  and  that  Western  members  had 
been  urging  this  as  as  a  reason  why  they  ought  not  to 
support  him  in  preference  to  Adams.  His  ilhiess,  and 
the  serious  afflictions  with  which  he  had  been  visited, 
were  well  known  to  Clay.  He  spoke  of  them  often, 
and  always  with  unfeigned  kindness  and  sympathy. 
Anxious  and  interested  partisans  had,  it  is  true,  sent 
abroad  through  the  country  very  exaggerated  accounts 
of  his  convalescence  and  improving  state  of  health,  but 
10 


218  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

in  Washington  the  whole  truth  was  known.  But  his 
immediate  friends  attempted  no  concealment,  although 
they  were  sincere  in  the  belief  that  he  was  rapidly 
growing  better,  and  would  soon  be  sufficiently  restored 
to  enter  profitably  into  the  discharge  of  any  official 
duty  to  which  he  might  be  called.  Under  this  illusory 
impression,  in  order  as  well  to  confute  the  malicious  as 
to  convince  and  persuade  the  doubtful,  they  resolved 
upon  a  course  which,  though  corroborative  of  their  sin- 
cerity, resulted  fatally  to  their  hopes  and  expectations. 
It  had  been  now  a  long  time  since  Crawford  had  min- 
gled with  the  public.  He  had  not  been  present  at  any 
of  the  numerous  festive  and  social  meetings  for  which 
this  season  is  famous.  To  drawing-rooms  and  soirees 
he  was  an  utter  stranger.  Only  a  select  and  ultimate 
few  were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  him,  eveii  at  his  home. 
A  few  days  previous  to  the  time  of  election,  however, 
and  to  the  surprise  of  nearly  all  Washington,  his  friends 
conveyed  him  to  the  Capitol,  and  kept  him  there  in 
company  for  several  hours.  The  old  man  looked  much 
better  than  was  generally  expected,  and  deported  him- 
self with  accustomed  amenity  and  dignity.  Many  who 
saw  him  only  from  a  distance,  were  most  agreeably 
disappointed.  Those  with  whom  he  shook  hands  and 
spoke,  however,  were  observed  to  leave  him  with  grave 
faces,  and  with  all  the  signs  and  tokens  of  a  melancholy 
interview.  Among  these  last  was  Clay  himself;  and  it 
was  afterwards  remarked  by  one  of  Crawford's  friends, 
who  was  present,  that  his  manner  on  that  occasion  told 
plainly  enough  that  their  hopes  of  his  co-operation  and 
support  were  at  an  end.  "  Defects  were  but  too  evi- 
dent," as  Cobb  had  written  to  his  friends,  and  these 
sounded  the  funeral  knell  to  his  chances  for  the  Presi- 
dency. 

The  contest  was  at  length  narrowed  down  to  the 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  219 

issue  between  Adams  and  Jackson,  as  nearly  every  one 
had,  from  the  first,  predicted  it  would  be.  Parties 
still  continued  immovable  and  uncertain.  It  was  diffi- 
cult to  tell  where  either  had  lost,  or  where  either  had 
gained.  Calhoun  had  been  elected  Vice  President  by 
a  large  majority,  and  refused  to  take  part  or  mingle  in 
the  election  either  way.  He  was  known,  however,  to 
be  bitterly  opposed  to  Crawford,  and  he  afterwards  de- 
clared that  he  had  no  preference  as  between  Adams 
and  Jackson,  though  his  friends  were  already  zealous 
for  the  latter.  Clay  maintained  a  steady  and  decorous 
reserve,  which  many,  whose  anxieties  were  zealously 
excited,  characterized  as  mysterious  and  politic.  The 
Crawford  party  no  longer  expected  his  co-operation, 
and  the  Adams  party,  relying  on  his  well-known  dis- 
trust of  Jackson,  and  fully  informed  of  Crawford's 
wretched  health,  confined  their  electioneering  efforts  to 
an  intercourse  marked  only  by  cordiality  and  respect. 
There  is  not  on  record  the  least  particle  of  evidence 
that  they  ever  made  any  overtures  to  Clay's  friends,  or 
approached  himself  improperly.  But  the  partisans  of 
Jackson  pursued  a  different  policy  altogether.  It  is  in 
proof,  on  their  own  testimony,  that  prominent  members 
of  their  party  consulted  frequently  as  to  the  propriety 
of  coaxing  Clay's  friends  to  support  Jackson  by  an  in- 
timation that,  in  the  event  of  the  latter's  election,  the 
"  second  office  of  the  government "  would  be  tendered 
to  Clay.  They  even  went  so  far,  in  guarding  against 
the  rumor  that  Jackson  had  declared  his  intention  of 
continuing  Adams  in  the  State  Department  in  case  of 
election,  to  persuade  Jackson  to  allow  them  to  an- 
nounce publicly  and  by  his  authority,  that  he  had  made 
no  such  declaration,  that  he  had  not  decided  as  to  any 
official  appointments,  and  that,  if  elected  President,  he 
should  be  free  to  fill  the  offices  of  government  as  he 


220  WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOKD. 

chose.  While  doing  this  much,  however,  Jackson  took 
very  especial  pains  to  denounce  all  attempts  at  intrigue 
or  improper  collusions,  and  expressed  himself  with  char- 
acteristic emphasis  and  honesty  of  purpose.  .We  must 
candidly  say  that  we  believe  Jackson  himself  was  intent 
on  running  the  race  with  Adams  for  the  Presidency 
fairly  and  independently ;  although  we  must  further 
say  that  his  subsequent  conduct  showed  a  vindictive- 
ness  that  is  wholly  irreconcilable  with  the  general 
frankness  and  manliness  of  his  disposition. 

It  has  not  transpired  whether  these  declarations 
were  ever  formally  communicated  to  the  friends  of 
Clay.  But  when  the  Jackson  party  found  that  Clay's 
resolution  was  still  fixed  not  to  sustain  the  pretensions 
of  their  favorite ;  that  neither  persuasion,  nor  flattering 
intimations,  nor  attempts  to  intimidate  could  move 
him  from  his  purpose ;  that  the  star  of  the  hated  Adams 
was  rising  to  ascendency;  that  Clay  and  his  friends 
would  certainly  make  Adams  the  President,  their  rage 
seemed  to  know  no  bounds.  Their  execrations  were 
uttered  without  regard  to  decency  or  propriety.  Then 
it  was  that  the  first  hoarse  whispers  of  the  "  bargain 
and  intrigue "  were  heard.  They  were  hissed  serpent- 
like  through  the  political  circles  of  Washington,  though 
the  venom  was  first  discharged  within  the  bosom  of  a 
quiet  and  obscure  rural  district  in  a  neighboring  State. 
No  one  doubted  then,  no  one  doubts  now,  the  source 
from  whence  those  charges  sprang.  It  is  one  of  the 
infirmities  of  our  nature  to  judge  others  by  ourselves. 
They  who  had  so  cautiously  discussed  the  policy  of 
illicit  overtures  within  their  own  cabal,  were  naturally 
unable  to  account  for  their  defeat  upon  any  other  than 
the  ground  that  they  had  been  outbidden  by  their  wit- 
tier adversaries.  But  they  directed  their  attack  behind 
a  masked  battery,  and  attempted  to  resolve  the  contro- 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  221 

versy  into  a  personal  issue  between  Clay  and  an  old, 
simple-minded  Pennsylvania  Dutchman,  by  the  name 
of  Kremer.  Kremer  was  a  member  of  Congress,  and 
from  his  character,  habits,  and  standing,  was  evidently 
selected  with  special  reference  to  all  these,  as  the  in- 
strument to  fire  the  train  of  this  infernal  machine.  It 
seems  that  he  was  notorious  for  ignorance,  insignifi- 
cance, and  vulgarity.  In  his  address  to  the  House, 
Clay  alludes  to  him  with  a  species  of  kind  contempt, 
implying  less  of  malevolence  than  scornful  indifference ; 
and  afterwards  he  tells  his  constituents  that  to  have 
held  such  a  man  responsible  would  have  subjected  him 
to  universal  ridicule.  Nobody  believed  that  Kremer 
composed  either  his  original  letter  charging  Clay  with 
corruption  and  bribery,  or  the  subsequent  elaborate 
letter  which  was  sent  to  the  committee  raised  to  act  on 
those  charges.  The  only  thing  he  himself  did  write, 
which  was  a  positive  contradiction  of  his  original 
charge,  was  seized  and  pocketed  by  one  of  his 'friends, 
who  at  the  same  time  admonished  him  to  do  nothing 
without  advice.  That  he  was  a  mere  tool  of  others,  is 
seen  by  his  original  letter,  in  which  he  makes  charges 
that  he  afterwards  denied  were  charges  of  either  bar- 
gain or  bribery,  and  about  which  he  evidently  under- 
stood nothing  at  all.  That  he  was  a  vainglorious  blus- 
terer, is  proven  by  his  vaunting  reply  to  Clay's  card 
denouncing  the  charges  of  his  letter  as  false.  That  he 
was  a  driveller,  if  not  a  fool,  is  evidenced  by  his  whole 
subsequent  conduct.  His  cringing  denials,  his  bolstered 
re-affirmations  in  the  face  of  those  denials,  his  verbal 
confessions  to  Clay's  friends,  his  written  statements 
given  to  Clay's  enemies,  his  challenge  before  the  com- 
mittee, and  his  subsequent  disgraceful  retreat,  at  one 
time  boasting,  at  another  time  begging,  and  always 
blindly  obedient  to  his  dictators,  all  these  show  clearly 


222  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

that  he  was  much  better  fitted  to  mould  cheeses  and  to 
manufacture  sourkrout  than  to  conduct  a  plot  or  dis- 
cuss state  affairs.  His  only  redeeming  quality  is  to  be 
found  in  Clay's  own  admission,  that  "  he  may  have  pos- 
sessed native  honesty." 

Such  was  the  man  and  the  instrument  which  was 
thrust  forward  by  the  contrivers  of  this  atrocious  plot 
to  confront  and  accuse  Henry  Clay.  Having  failed  to 
flatter  or  to  frighten  him  into  the  support  of  Jackson, 
they  now  assailed  him  through  the  more  trying  medium 
of  his  sensibilities.  They  endeavored  to  compel  his 
support  by  leaving  to  him  only  a  choice  between  com- 
pliance and  the  chances  of  political  destruction.  Their 
scheme  failed  as  to  the  first,  as  every  body  knows, 
Clay  was  not  shaken  for  an  instant,  but  challenged  in- 
vestigation and  defied  conviction.  At  the  same  time 
he  caused  his  friends  to  assert  publicly  and  positively, 
that  he  had  resolved  not  to  sustain  Jackson  under  any 
circumstances  short  of  the  most  extreme  and  improba- 
ble necessity.  But  the  conspiracy,  especially  in  view 
of  its  subsequent  identification  with  Jackson  himself, 
who  endorsed  the  accusations  in  the  very  zenith  of  his 
gigantic  popularity,  did  indeed  result  in  the  destruction 
of  Clay's  chances  for  the  Presidency.  The  strongest 
armament  of  proof  that  was  ever  before  arrayed  in  a 
similar  case,  (and  that,  too,  the  proof  of  a  negative,) 
has  not  been  sufficient  to  clear  him,  before  the  masses, 
of  these  groundless  charges.  Every  effort  to  make 
him  President,  from  that  day  to  this,  has  failed,  solely 
in  consequence  of  the  unwelcome  fact,  that  his  friends 
have  been  met  at  every  corner  with  these  deathless 
charges  of  the  bargain  and  intrigue  of  1825.  It  was  in 
vain  that  they  were  disproved ;  that  all  proof  was  in- 
vited and  challenged ;  that  it  was  shown  no  proof  ex- 
isted, or  ever  had  existed.  One  letter  of  five  lines 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  223 

from  the  Hermitage,  containing  the  mere  declaration 
that  the  opinions  of  its  revered  and  idolized  master  had 
" undergone  no  change"  on  the  subject,  was  enough  to 
confute  a  world  of  substantial  evidence,  and  to  stamp 
the  baseless  charge  with  the  seal  of  divinity. 

It  is  a  significant  and  an  instructive  fact  that  the 
friends  of  Crawford,  so  far  from  aiding  and  abetting 
this  unworthy  attempt  to  destroy  the  character  of  a 
high-minded  opponent,  with  the  view  to  force  him  to  a 
course  which  his  judgment  and  inclination  both  con- 
demned, accorded  to  Clay  their  generous  and  steadfast 
support  in  all  attempts  which  were  made  to  obtain  the 
action  of  the  House  on  the  charges  contained  in  the 
Kremer  letter.  Forsyth  came  zealously  to  his  aid,  and 
put  forth  in  his  cause  the  splendid  parliamentary  ac- 
complishments and  abilities  which  made  him  the  orna- 
ment of  Congress.  Crawford  himself  turned  his  face 
against  the  conspiracy,  with  feelings  that  appeared  to 
have  partaken  of  both  horror  and  disgust,  and  after- 
wards wrote  to  Clay  a  letter  expressive  of  surprise  that 
he  should  ever  have  been  thought  capable  of  believing 
such  charges,  and  assuring  him  that  he  "  should  have 
voted  just  as  he  did,  as  between  Jackson  and  Adams." 
At  the  same  time,  the  Crawford  party,  warmly  devoted 
to  their  chief,  never  pretended  to  disguise  their  hostility 
to  Clay,  in  consequence  of  his  preference  for  Adams 
over  their  own  candidate.  They  were  mostly  of  a 
school  of  politics  which  repudiated  the  latitudinous 
constitutional  theories  of  the  day,  and  considered  Ad- 
ams as  being  more  obdurate  and  unreliable  on  such 
score  than  Crawford. 

At  length  the  day  of  election  arrived.  It  was  a 
cold,  stormy  day  of  February.  The  hall  was  beset  and 
crowded  at  an  early  hour  by  every  class  of  spectator. 
Every  member  was  at  his  post,  and  the  area  was  jammed 


224  WILLIAM  H.   CEAWFO32D. 

with  privileged  dignitaries,  Senators,  ex~members  of 
Congress,  members  of  State  Legislatures,  judges,  and 
foreign  ambassadors.  Doubt  was  portrayed  in  every 
countenance  ;  anxiety  throbbed  in  every  bosom.  The 
galleries  and  lobbies,  filled  to  an  excess  that  almost 
stifled  the  eager  multitude,  presented  a  solid  sea  of  un- 
covered heads  ;  nor  was  there,  perhaps,  a  solitary  indi- 
vidual of  that  vast  number,  who  had  not  made  a  choice 
and  a  preference  between  the  three  opposing  candidates 
for  President.  It  was  the  second  time  in  the  history  of 
the  Government,  and  within  a  quarter  of  a  century,  that 
such  a  high  duty  and  responsibility  had  devolved  on  the 
House  of  Representatives.  Most  of  those  present  were 
alive  and  in  political  life  when  Burr  and  Jefferson  came 
as  contestants  before  the  same  assembly,  and  some  had 
been  actors  in  that  memorable  scene.  They  now  recalled 
with  misgiving  the  frightful  recollections  of  those  seven 
days'  ballotings,  which  had  been  carried  on  amidst 
threats  of  rebellion  and  of  armed  interference.  It  was 
now  to  be  tested  whether  the  lapse  of  twenty-five  years 
— years  allied  with  glory,  with  greatness,  and  with  un- 
paralleled prosperity — had  imparted  the  salutary  influ- 
ences necessary  to  dispel  and  subdue  seditious  resorts, 
and  to  substitute  a  spirit  of  allegiance  for  a  spirit  of  an- 
archy. The  foreign  ministers  present,  observing  the 
immense  concourse,  and  the  absence  of  soldiers  and 
guards,  seemed  by  their  looks  to  have  agreed  that  the 
occasion  would  fully  confirm  or  disprove  the  republican 
theory  of  our  political  system.  But  there  were  no  in- 
dications of  a  character  that  seemed  likely  to  lead  to 
any  untoward  development.  At  the  usual  hour  the 
Speaker  ascended  to  his  chair,  and  the  rap  of  his  ham- 
mer brought  the  House  to  order.  The  roll  was  called, 
and  the  first  business  being  to  proceed  with  the  election 
for  President,  in  conformity  with  the  terms  of  the  Con- 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  225 

stitution,  tables  were  duly  arranged,  and  tellers  ap- 
pointed. John  Randolph  presided  at  the  table  on  the 
Speaker's  left,  and  Daniel  Webster  at  that  on  his  right 
hand.  The  vote  was  to  be  taken  by  States,  and  amidst 
breathless  stillness  and  the  most  painful  suspense,  the 
balloting  commenced.  When  all  the  votes  had  been 
deposited  and  counted  out,  Webster  rose,  and  with 
deep,  sonorous  tones,  announced  that  at  his  table,  Ad- 
ams had  received  thirteen  votes,  Jackson  seven,  and 
Crawford  four.  Scarcely  had  he  again  taken  his  seat, 
when  the  wild,  shrill  voice  of  Randolph  was  heard 
ringing  high  above  the  buzz  which  followed  Webster's 
announcement,  as  he  proclaimed  a  similar  result  at  his 
own  table,  but  so  varying  Webster's  phraseology  as  to 
say  that  the  respective  candidates  had  received  the 
votes  of  so  many  States,  instead  of  so  many  votes. 
There  being  at  that  time  but  twenty-four  States  of  the 
Union,  and  a  majority  only  required  to  elect,  it  ap- 
peared that  Adams  had  obtained  just  the  complement, 
and  was,  of  course,  duly  and  constitutionally  elected 
President  of  the  United  States. 

So  soon  as  this  result  had  been  officially  made 
known,  there  was  heard  some  slight  demonstration  of 
applause  in  one  of  the  galleries.  McDuffie,  a  member 
from  South  Carolina,  and  a  fierce  partisan  of  the  Jack- 
son faction,  sprang  to  his  feet  ere  scarcely  the  first 
sounds  were  distinctly  heard,  and  in  a  manner  that  in- 
dicated every  symptom  of  anger  and  keen  mortification, 
moved  that  the  galleries  be  instantly  cleared.  This 
motion,  and  the  corresponding  order  which  was  imme- 
diately given  by  the  Speaker,  seemed  to  produce  great 
surprise  among  the  foreigners  present,  in  view  of  the 
immense  and  excited  crowd  which  filled  the  hall.  It 
seemed  to  them  incredible  that  such  an  order  at  such  a 
time  could  be  carried  out,  and  that,  too,  by  an  invisible 
10* 


226  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

force.  But  their  surprise  was  lulled,  and  their  incredu- 
lity satisfied  completely,  when  the  Sergeant-at-arms 
proceeded  quietly  to  motion  the  crowd  to  the  doors, 
and  when  that  crowd  quietly  obeyed ;  and  all  skepti- 
cism, if  any  had  really  been  entertained,  as  to  the  bind- 
ing influence  of  law  in  the  absence  of  physical  force, 
must  instantly  have  vanished,  when,  in  a  few  moments, 
those  spacious  seats,  which  were  so  recently  teeming 
with  conscious,  anxious  spectators,  presented  nothing 
to  the  eye  but  the  magnificent  colonnade  and  the  long 
rows  of  empty  benches.  The  House  now  soon  ad- 
journed, and  every  body  quitted  the  Capitol,  some 
filled  with  joy,  and  others  struggling  to  conceal  the  de- 
feat of  expectations  which  had  been  more  fed  by  hope 
than  by  reason.  The  important  question  had  been  ir- 
retrievably decided  by  a  first  vote,  notwithstanding 
that  many  had  anticipated  that  a  struggle  similar  to 
that  of  1801  was  about  to  occur  again. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  the  drawing-rooms 
of  the  Presidential  mansion  were  thrown  open,  and  ah1 
Washington  flocked  to  witness  the  scene.  The  gather- 
ing was  brilliant  beyond  parallel  or  precedent;  and 
amid  the  universal  exhibition  of  good  feeling  and  appa- 
rent vivacity,  it  was  difficult  for  a  stranger  to  distin- 
guish the  victors  in  the  morning's  contest  from  the 
vanquished.  Adams  was  there,  but  the  same  frigid 
and  callous  deportment  which  always  belonged  to  him 
was  not  exchanged  for  a  manner  of  even  seeming 
warmth.  The  bright  and  piercing  eye  alone  gave 
token  that  deep  feeling,  and  stormy  passions,  and  acer- 
bities of  temper  that  partook  of  stern  Jesuitism,  dwelt 
within  a  bosom  to  all  appearance  so  impervious  and 
phlegmatic.  The  polished  amenity  and  winning  suavity 
of  Jackson  shone  in  marked  contrast  with  the  less  en- 
gaging manner  of  his  successful  rival.  There  was  not 


WILLIAM   H.   CEAWFORD.  227 

the  slightest  symptom,  of  even  a  lurking  disappointment 
observable  in  his  mild,  dignified  deportment.  He 
shook  hands  with  and  congratulated  Adams  with  a  cor- 
diality that  seemed  to  defy  scrutiny  or  question.  No 
one  could  have  ventured  to  predict  that  the  frank  and 
friendly  courtesies  of  that  evening  would  so  soon  be  ex- 
changed for  a  personal  warfare,  vindictive  beyond  what 
has  ever  occurred  in  the  history  of  the  republic.  Yet 
no  one  will  now  question  but  that  Jackson's  behavior 
on  that  occasion  was  forced  and  insincere,  and  that  his 
bosom  was  even  then  burning  with  wrath  and  the  de- 
sire of  vengeance.  How  these  were  afterwards  wreaked 
against  both  Adams  and  Clay,  history  has  told  with  a 
particularity  of  detail  more  truthful  than  welcome. 

Crawford  was  not  present ;  disposition  and  tastes 
would  have  withheld  him  from  going,  even  had  his 
state  of  health  allowed.  Besides,  the  result  of  the 
morning's  contest  had  both  astonished  and  disappointed 
him.  He  had  never,  perhaps,  shared  the  sanguineness 
of  his  friends,  but  we  are  told  by  one  who  had  long 
stood  in  a  very  confidential  relation  to  him,  that  he  was 
evidently  not  prepared  for  so  early  and  abrupt  a  ter- 
mination of  the  struggle  before  the  House.  His  friends 
were  prepared  no  better  for  a  decision  on  the  first  bal- 
lot. They  had  hoped  and  wrought  for  a  protracted 
contest,  conscious  that  Crawford's  only  chance  lay  in 
some  sudden  turn  of  the  game  which  might  spring  from 
the  animosity  of  the  stronger  factions,  and  finally  bene- 
fit him  as  a  compromise  candidate.  Consequently,  they 
were  astounded  when  the  vote  was  announced,  though 
they  betrayed  no  outward  sign  of  chagrin  or  mortifica- 
tion. Some  of  the  most  ultimate  of  their  party  repaired 
to  Crawford's  dwelling  shortly  after  the  adjournment, 
and  among  these  were  Macon,  Lowry,  and  Cobb.  The 
first  two  of  these  went  immediately  into  the  room 


228  WILLIAM  H.  CRAWFORD. 

where  Crawford  was  calmly  reclining  in  his  easy  chair, 
while  one  of  his  family  read  to  him  from  a  newspaper. 
Macon  saluted  him,  and  made  known  the  result  with 
delicacy,  though  with  ill-concealed  feeling.  The  invalid 
statesman  gave  a  look  of  profound  surprise,  and  re- 
mained silent  and  pensive  for  many  minutes,  evidently 
schooling  his  mind  to  a  becoming  tolerance  of  the  event 
which  had  for  ever  thwarted  his  political  elevation. 
He  then  entered  freely  into  conversation,  and  com- 
mented on  the  circumstances  of  the  election  as  though 
he  had  never  been  known  as  a  candidate.  He  even 
jested  and  rallied  his  friend  Cobb,  whose  excess  of 
feeling  had  forbidden  him  to  see  Crawford  until  the 
shock  had  passed — for  he  knew  that  the  enfeebled  vet- 
eran would  be  shocked.  The  conversation,  on  the  part 
of  these  friends,  was  not  untinged  with  bitterness  and 
spite,  vented  against  the  prominent  actors  hi  both  the 
adverse  political  factions,  but  more  especially  against 
those  of  the  successful  party,  as  being  more  immediately 
responsible  for  the  crushing  overthrow  of  their  own  be- 
loved candidate.  Crawford  himself  refrained  from  giv- 
ing utterance  to  the  least  exceptionable  sentiment,  and 
behaved,  during  the  remainder  of  his  stay  in  Washing- 
ton, with  a  mildness  and  an  urbanity  befitting  one  of 
his  exalted  station,  who  had  just  staked  and  lost  his 
political  fortune.  As  a  proper  conclusion  to  this  por- 
tion of  our  task,  we  again  draw  some  extracts  from  the 
correspondence  of  Thomas  W.  Cobb,  under  date  of  the 
thirteenth  of  February,  just  four  days  after  the  contest 
had  been  decided  in  the  House. 

"  The  Presidential  election  Is  over,  and  yon  will  have  heard  the 
result.  The  clouds  were  black,  and  portentous  of  storms  of  no  ordi- 
nary character.  They  broke  in  one  horrid  burst,  and  straight  dis- 
pelled. Every  thing  here  is  silent.  The  victors  have  no  cause  to 
rejoice.  There  was  not  a  single  window  lighted  on  the  occasion.  A 


WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOKD.  229 

few  free  negroes  shouted,  '  Huzza  for  Mr.  Adams !'  But  they  were 
not  joined  even  by  the  cringing  populace  of  this  place.  The  disap- 
pointed submit  in  sullen  silence.  The  friends  of  Jackson  grumbled 
at  first  like  the  rumbling  of  distant  thunder,  but  the  old  man  himself 
submitted  without  a  change  of  countenance.  Mr.  Crawford's  friends 
nor  himself  changed  not  their  looks.  They  command  universal  re- 
gpect.  Adams  has  caused  it  to  be  announced  that  they  shall  have  no 
cause  to  be  dissatisfied.  Two  days  ago,  the  Treasury  Department 
was  tendered  to  Crawford,  and  refused.  On  the  same  day,  General 
Jackson  paid  him  a  friendly  and  civil  visit,  but  nothing  passed  but  an 

interchange  of  civilities Crawford  will  return  home, 

and  we  must  do  the  best  we  can  with  him.  Should  he  and  our 
friends  wish  that  he  should  again  go  into  the  Senate,  the  way  shall 
be  open  for  him.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  every  thing  here,  and  wish 
for  nothing  so  much  as  private  life.  My  ambition  is  dead." 

The  events  of  this  memorable  campaign,  and  their 
consequences,  afford  an  instructive  page  of  history,  and 
may  be  easily  traced  to  an  intimate  connection  with 
the  party  politics  of  the  country  from  that  day  to  the 
present.  They  served  to  form  the  tempest  which  suc- 
ceeded to  the  calm  of  the  preceding  eight  years.  The 
absence  of  all  principles  from  the  contest,  gave  to  it 
peculiar  virulence  and  acrimony,  and  made  defeat  to 
be  far  more  keenly  felt.  It  caused  a  general  prevalence 
of  the  belief,  that  the  cessation  of  party  strifes,  based 
upon  honest  differences  of  opinion  on  the  fundamental 
theories  of  the  government,  was  rather  injurious  and 
hazardous  than  beneficial  to  the  political  safety  of  the 
republic.  Hitherto,  since  the  day  of  Washington,  on 
whom  even  his  opponents  bestowed  their  suffrages,  the 
conflicts  of  the  political  world  had  turned  on  substan- 
tial and  great  principles.  From  1824  to  1848,  compe- 
tition has  turned  principally  upon  personal  attachments 
and  preferences  on  one  side,  and  personal  antipathy 
and  hatred  on  the  other.  Andrew  Jackson  was  not 
the  man  to  restore  harmony ;  and  his  advent,  at  such  a 


230  WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOBI). 

period  and  crisis,  must  ever  be  regarded  as  having  ma- 
terially balked  and  impeded  the  progress  of  the  great 
national  interests,  although  no  one  can  consistently 
question  his  honesty  or  his  patriotism ;  while  all  must 
admit  that,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  his  administration 
gave  a  character  and  tone  to  the  American  name  which 
the  lapse  of  many  future  generations  will  not  alter  or 
obliterate.  His  passions  and  his  pride  were  alike  un- 
regulated, and  the  pernicious  and  corrupting  principle 
of  favoritism  was  a  prominent  element  of  his  nature. 
He  gave  out  to  his  friends  to  expect  from  him  every 
thing  in  the  way  of  patronage,  and  warned  his  oppo- 
nents to  expect  nothing.  He  very  seldom  showed 
quarter  in  battle,  never  in  the  political  world  after  his 
accession  to  the  Presidency.  These  strong  passions 
came  to  be  mutual  and  reciprocal  as  between  the  lead- 
ers and  followers  of  both  parties ;  and  they  increased 
in  intensity  until,  at  last,  the  poh'tics  of  the  country 
was  resolved  into  personal  idolatry,  a  sort  of  man-wor- 
ship on  both  sides.  The  highest  public  interests  were 
subordinate  considerations,  and  the  support  of  a  favor- 
ite chieftain  became  the  primary  object  in  the  political 
struggles  which  followed.  It  will  be  allowed  by  all, 
we  think,  that  this  state  of  things  was  most  inauspicious 
to  a  regular  and  constitutional  operation  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  to  a  wise  and  stable  policy  in  any  branch  of 
public  interest  or  economy.  True  it  is  that  the  nation 
has  prospered  in  every  branch  of  industry,  and  our  ter- 
ritorial limits  have  been  vastly  increased  within  the  last 
twenty  years,  though  we  doubt  whether  this  last  will 
eventuate  in  good  or  evil  to  the  public  interests.  For 
nearly  the  whole  period  intervening  since  Jackson's 
election,  the  Democratic  party  has  held  the  reins  of 
government,  and  partiality  or  ignorance  of  political 
history  might  beget  an  inference  in  favor  of  Democratic 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  231 

policy,  at  first  sight,  in  view  of  the  increased  national 
importance  during  its  sway.  Nothing,  however,  could 
be  more  fallacious.  No  government  ever  withstood 
such  violent  assaults  on  its  integrity  and  strength  as 
this  government  has  withstood,  during  the  period  of 
Democratic  ascendency,  against  the  wild  spirit  and 
radical  tendencies  of  Democracy.  Its  domestic  peace 
has  been  twice  seriously  threatened  in  consequence ; 
and  the  government  owes  its  rescue,  on  both  occasions, 
mainly  to  the  conservative  influence  of  the  Whig  party. 
The  commercial  and  mercantile  interests  of  the  country 
were  visited  with  a  blow  that  had  well  nigh  disabled 
them  for  ever.  Their  resuscitation  has  been  brought 
about  by  a  resort  to  Whig  measures.  In  fact,  the 
Whigs  have  been  routed  and  overthrown  only  because 
the  Democrats  have  adopted  and  acted  on  their  princi- 
ples, while  repudiating  their  name.  The  only  Whig 
measure  which  has  gone  down  entirely  beneath  Demo- 
cratic furor,  is  that  of  a  national  bank.  That  is  obso- 
lete and  dead,  beyond  recovery  or  resurrection.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  two  cardinal  principles  of  the  Whig 
party  have  been  permanently  impressed  on  the  country 
by  Democratic  men :  viz.,  those  of  protection  to  na- 
tional industry,  and  a  moderate  system  of  internal  in: 
provements. 

Early  in  the  spring  following,  having  declined  the 
offer  from  Adams  of  the  department  he  had  so  long 
presided  over,  Crawford  set  out  from  Washington  on 
his  return  to  Georgia.  Political  life  had  no  longer  any 
charms  for  his  ambition,  and  his  whole  family  seemed 
to  rejoice  that  its  idolized  head  was  at  last  cut  loose, 
even  though  abruptly  and  mortifyingly,  from  the  re- 
straints and  the  miseries  of  a  public  career.  The  state 
of  Crawford's  health  was  too  feeble  and  precarious  to 
withstand  the  rapidity  and  discomforts  of  a  public  con- 


232  WILLIAM  H.    CRAWFORD. 

veyance,  and  it  was  decided  that  they  should  travel  in 
his  private  carriage,  and  pursue  their  route  by  easy 
stages.  They  were  accompanied  by  his  friend,  Mr. 
Cobb,  whose  devotion  to  the  fallen  statesman  was  never 
bounded  by  the  measure  of  prosperity  or  success,  but 
clung  faithfully  in  the  hour  of  misfortune  and  failure. 
His  aspirations  for  political  greatness  seem  to  have  ex- 
pired with  the  close  of  the  day  which  had  witnessed 
Crawford's  final  overthrow  for  the  presidency:  it  was 
but  little  more  than  two  years  afterwards  that  he  threw 
up  his  commission  as  senator,  the  victim  of  severe  do- 
mestic afflictions ;  which,  added  to  his  keen  mortifica- 
tion at  Crawford's  defeat,  fixed  his  determination  to 
leave  the  theatre  of  public  life. 

The  people  of  Georgia  met  Crawford  at  every 
county-town  through  which  he  passed  on  his  return, 
with  all  the  evidences  of  affection  and  respect.  A  few 
miles  from  Lexington,  the  court-house  site  of  his  own 
county,  the  citizens  of  Oglethorpe,  headed  by  his  an- 
cient and  unwavering  friend,  Judge  John  Moore,  were 
gathered  in  considerable  numbers  to  receive  and  escort 
to  his  home  their  illustrious  but  afflicted  friend  and  fel- 
low-countryman. After  greeting  the  old  statesman 
with  a  warmth  that  indicated  the  deepest  sincerity  of 
attachment  and  admiration,  and  with  an  enthusiasm 
none  the  less  ardent  that  he  had  been  overthrown  by 
the  nation,  they  formed  in  procession,  and  conducted 
him  to  the  town  amidst  demonstrations  rather  of  tri- 
umph than  of  mortification.  He  was  here  quartered 
in  the  hospitable  mansion  of  Judge  Moore,  and  the  day 
was  devoted  to  the  reception  of  his  earliest  and  fastest 
friends,  many  of  them  descendants  of  those  who,  twenty 
years  before,  had  first  called  him  into  political  life. 
They  viewed  the  friend  of  their  youth  with  mingled 
feelings  of  curiosity,  veneration,  and  sorrow ;  many 


WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOKD.  233 

years  had  passed  since  he  had  been  in  Georgia ;  a  great 
many  of  those  present  knew  him  only  by  report.  Their 
fathers  had  told  them  of  his  greatness,  and  had  encour- 
aged their  youthful  exertions  by  pointing  his  career  to 
them  as  a  proud  example  of  industry  and  application. 
But  he  was  not  now  the  Crawford  of  his  prime ;  dis- 
ease had  robbed  him  of  that  fine  appearance  and  ma- 
jestic carriage  which  had  so  impressed  all  who  knew 
him  in  the  zenith  of  his  career.  The  commanding  in- 
tellect which  had  won  the  reverence  of  a  nation  no 
longer  shone  with  original  splendor ;  he  was,  in  fact, 
the  mere  shadow  or  wreck  of  what  he  ha4  been.  Some 
who  went  in  with  beaming  eyes  came  away  saddened 
and  downcast,  when  they  called  to  mind  the  vast  dif- 
ference between  the  Crawford  of  1812  and  the  Craw- 
ford of  1825.  All  had  heard  of  his  sickness,  and  they 
expected  to  find  him  somewhat  altered,  but  none  were 
prepared  for  the  awful  change  which  met  their  vision. 
He  could  scarcely  see ;  he  spoke  with  great  difficulty, 
and  even  with  apparent  pain ;  his  walk  was  almost  a 
hobble,  and  his  whole  frame  evidenced,  on  the  least 
motion,  that  its  power  and  vigor  had  been  seriously 
assaulted.  Those  now  living  who  met  Crawford  on 
that  occasion,  mention  the  interview  as  being  one  of 
the  most  melancholy  of  their  lives. 

Three  miles  distant  from  Lexington  was  Wood- 
lawn,  Crawford's  private  residence ;  this  was  now  his 
next  and  last  stage ;  and  the  family  entered  within  its 
grounds  with  feelings  more  akin  to  those  of  exiles  re- 
turning from  a  painful  banishment,  than  such  as  might 
be  supposed  to  oppress  those  whose  ambitious  aims 
have  just  been  disappointed.  It  is  a  retired,  peculiarly 
rural  spot,  unadorned  with  costly  or  imposing  edifices, 
and  boasts  of  no  artificial  embellishments  of  taste; 
every  thing  around  partakes  of  the  simplicity  and  un- 


234  WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOED. 

ostentatious  habits  of  its  illustrious  owner.  It  was 
fronted  with  a  magnificent  forest  of  oaks,  through 
which  the  mansion  was  approached  from  the  main 
road,  along  a  romantic  and  winding  avenue,  just  wide 
enough  for  vehicles  to  pass  with  convenience.  In  the 
rear  opened  an  extensive  clearing  which  formed  the 
plantation,  dotted  here  and  there  with  peach  and  apple 
orchards,  and  affording  an  agreeable  prospect  of  hill 
and  meadow ;  around  and  through  these  meandered  a 
clear  little  brook,  which  found  its  source  in  a  delight- 
ful spring,  only  a  few  yards  distant  from  the  mansion, 
and  which  lent  a  charmingly  pastoral  appearance  to  the 
whole  scene.  The  garden  bloomed  with  an  abundance 
of  shrubbery,  and  of  choice,  tender  fruit-trees,  which 
were  planted  and  tended  by  Crawford  and  his  elder 
children  alone,  and  smiled  in  the  luxuriance  and  gayety 
of  its  numerous  flower-beds.  A  rich  carpet  of  blue 
grass  covered  the  lawn  in  front ;  and  here,  of  a  calm 
summer  evening,  beneath  the  shade  of  a  venerable  oak, 
might  be  seen  frequently  gathered  the  entire  family, 
the  retired  statesman  himself  being  always  in  the  midst, 
and  ever  the  happiest  and  liveliest  of  the  group.  The 
memories  of  the  past,  laden  alike  with  greatness  and 
with  gloom,  seemed  now  to  have  faded  to  mere  secon- 
dary and  subordinate  importance.  The  quiet  joys  of 
domestic  life,  unmixed  with  aught  that  could  mar  their 
loveliness,  spread  content  through  the  familiar  circle, 
and  enlivened  his  secluded  homestead  with  a  warmth 
of  affection  and  harmony  too  pure  and  too  substantial 
to  be  compared  with  the  fleeting  pleasures  and  ephe- 
meral honors  of  the  political  world. 

The  derangement  of  private  business  consequent  on 
such  long  absences  from  home,  and  the  very  depressed 
state  of  Crawford's  finances,  drove  him  to  embark,  even 
in  his  enfeebled  health,  once  again  in  professional  life, 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  235 

with  the  hope  of  restoring  his  pecuniary  aflairs.  His 
sons  were  yet  under  age ;  and  it  was  not  until  four 
years  later  that  he  gave  the  hand  of  his  eldest  daughter 
to  Mr.  Dudley,  that  daughter  who  had  been  so  long  his 
most  trusted  and  confidential  friend,  whose  delicate 
hand  had  drawn  or  arranged  many  of  his  most  import- 
ant official  papers  during  the  progress  of  his  malady, 
and  whose  qualities  of  heart  and  of  mind  distinguished 
her  as  well  in  the  fashionable  as  in  the  political  and 
social  circles  which  centred  at  her  father's  residence  in 
Washington.  While  yet  he  was  determining  the  mode 
of  his  return  to  professional  life,  it  so  happened,  how- 
ever, that  the  bench  of  the  circuit  in  which  he  lived 
was  made  vacant  by  the  death  of  its  incumbent,  the 
celebrated  cynic  and  wit,  James  Dooley.  Governor 
Troup  immediately  appointed  Crawford  to  fill  the  va- 
cancy, and  this  timely  compliment  secured  for  him  at 
once  an  honorable  official  station,  and  an  annual  salary 
of  three  thousand  dollars.  He  was  elected  to  the  same 
office,  the  year  following,  without  opposition ;  but,  as  a 
singular  and  striking  illustration  of  the  instability  of 
political  fame,  when  the  subject  of  his  re-election  came 
again  before  the  legislature,  three  years  afterwards,  the 
pitiful  majority  of  only  three  votes  decided  a  contest 
between  a  man  of  less  than  ordinary  ability,  and  of 
scarcely  second-rate  standing  as  a  lawyer,  and  a  man 
of  pre-eminent  talents  and  position,  who  had  filled  the 
enlightened  world  with  his  reputation. 

We  must  now  turn  reluctantly  from  these  pictures 
of  domestic  felicity  and  quiet  professional  duties,  and, 
as  a  candid  and  impartial  reviewer,  give  our  serious 
and  close  attention  to  a  subject  far  different  in  charac- 
ter, which  brought  in  its  train  much  that  was  unpleasant 
and  mortifying  in  Crawford's  latter  life.  The  calm  and 
content  of  Woodlawn  were  but  of  short  existence :  he 


236  WILLIAM  H.    CRAWFORD. 

who  had  been  so  long  associated  with  the  strifes,  the 
struggles,  and  the  malignities  of  the  political  arena, 
could  not  be  expected  or  suffered  to  close  these  con- 
nections by  retiring  suddenly  from  their  perplexities. 
Others  were  still  struggling  whose  interests  had  been 
involved  with  his  own,  and  who  would  not  surrender 
him  to  private  life  while  a  hope  of  their  own  promo- 
tion, either  by  his  influence  or  his  instrumentality r, 
glimmered  in  the  political  horizon. 

The  conflict  for  the  presidency  betwixt  the  friends 
of  the  administration  and  the  party  of  General  Jackson 
had  waxed  violent  and  warm  early  in  1827.  Calhoun 
was  again  the  candidate  for  Vice  President  on  the 
Jackson  ticket,  and  was  understood  to  be  high  in  the 
esteem  and  confidence  of  that  chieftain.  Most,  if  not 
all,  of  the  old  Crawford  party  had  taken  sides  in  the 
same  cause ;  and  the  combined  forces  of  all  these  an- 
cient and  still  unreconciled  foes  were  turned  into  a 
common  crusade  against  the  coalition  of  Adams  and 
Clay,  which  had  wrested  from  their  respective  favorites 
the  crown  of  success  in  the  late  election.  The  cry  of 
the  "  bargain  and  intrigue "  was  the  theme  of  every 
Jackson  editor  throughout  the  Union,  and,  as  remarked 
by  Hamilton  of  South  Carolina,  formed  the  sole  "  elec- 
tioneering staple  "  of  the  Jackson  party.  The  contest 
was  one  of  desperation  on  the  part  of  the  coalition 
which  held  the  reins  of  government ;  Clay  mingled 
personally  in  the  strife,  and  struggled  with  a  gallantry 
that  has  never  been  equalled  in  the  history  of  partisan 
warfare.  He  met  his  accusers  with  a  proud  defiance, 
and  went  even  to  the  headquarters  of  one  of  the  oppos- 
ing factions  to  gather  testimony  in  his  favor.  He  ob- 
tained from  Crawford  the  letter  to  which  allusion  has 
been  already  made,  and  published  it  in  Washington. 
The  effect  was  universal  surprise  and  consternation  in 


WILLIAM   H.    CEAWFOED.  237 

the  hostile  camp.  This  letter  showed  that  Crawford 
did  not  share  the  general  belief  of  the  party  with  which 
his  friends  were  acting,  and,  in  fact,  directly  acquitted 
Clay  of  any  improper  act  or  motive,  so  far  as  the  opin- 
ion of  its  writer  was  concerned.  Crawford  evidently 
bore  no  personal  ill-will  to  Clay ;  if  he  had,  Clay  never 
would  have  obtained  from  him  aught  else  than  sheer 
justice  might  have  demanded  from  a  fair  and  honora- 
ble enemy.  He  went  farther,  however,  and  expressly 
endorsed  the  choice  of  Clay  as  between  Adams  and 
Jackson ;  and  yet,  as  if  to  afford  but  the  melancholy 
evidence  of  decayed  faculties  by  exhibiting  the  most 
remarkable  of  inconsistencies,  a  few  months  later  we 
find  Crawford  busily  corresponding  to  secure  the  elec- 
tion of  Jackson  over  Adams  in  1828.  His  letter  to 
Clay,  approving  the  choice  of  the  latter  in  preferring 
Adams  to  Jackson  in  1825,  is  dated  in  February  of 
1827.  In  the  April  following  he  authorized  his  opin- 
ions in  favor  of  Jackson's  pretensions,  as  he  declares  in 
a  letter  to  one  Alfred  Balch.  This  letter,  first  made 
public  in  the  great  quarrel  between  Calhoun,  Crawford, 
and  Jackson,  bears  date  in  December  of  the  same  year ; 
in  which,  while  decidedly  advocating  the  claims  of 
Jackson,  he  denounces  Calhoun  as  being  inimical  to 
the  General,  and  urges  that  his  name  on  the  Jackson 
ticket  will  create  difficulty  in  the  State  of  Georgia. 
His  dislike  of  Calhoun  outweighed  his  preference  for 
Jackson ;  and  as  he  could  not,  without  separating  from 
his  friends,  support  Adams,  this  fact  had  well  nigh 
fixed  him  in  a  state  of  neutrality,  so  fearful  was  he  that 
Jackson's  election  "  might  benefit  Calhoun."  He  even 
wished  to  stipulate  with  Jackson  that  such  benefit 
should  not  follow  on  his  election,  and  urges  Balch,  who 
was  a  near  neighbor  and  friend  of  Jackson,  "  to  ascer- 
tain "  if  such  cannot  be  distinctly  understood.  He  and 


238         .  WILLIAM    H.    CRAWFORD. 

Calhoun  had  been  enemies  for  many  long  years,  and  the 
events  of  1824  had  produced  an  open  personal  rupture 
between  them ;  their  intercourse  had  been  confined  to 
the  mere  ordinary  civilities  of  life,  and  retirement  did 
not  bring  any  abatement  of  Crawford's  animosity.  He 
was  as  little  prone  to  forgiveness  as  Jackson  himself, 
where  his  dislikes  had  taken  firm  root;  he  believed 
that  Calhoun  was  an  unreliable  and  a  deceitful  man, 
and,  being  now  favorable  to  Jackson's  election  himself, 
he  could  not  bear  "  to  see  Mordecai,  the  Jew,  sitting 
at  the  king's  gate."  In  other  words,  he  believed  that 
Calhoun  was  too  bad  a  man  to  stand  in  such  intimate 
relations  with  a  President  of  the  United  States,  or  to 
be  quietly  allowed  thus  to  ride  into  power  on  Jackson's 
popularity.  It  is  clear  that  this  intolerance  did  not 
proceed  from  envy,  or  ambition,  or  that  meaner  feeling 
which  craves  company  in  disappointment.  Crawford 
no  longer  aspired  to  office,  and  thought  as  little  of  ever 
being  made  President  as  of  succeeding  the  Great  Mo- 
gul ;  but  it  is  beyond  doubt,  in  our  mind,  that  his  sub- 
sequent unfortunate  agency  in  bringing  about  the  cele- 
brated controversy  which  drove  Calhoun  from  power 
and  place,  was  owing  alone  to  the  depth  and  earnest- 
ness of  this  long-cherished  enmity.  The  connection  of 
Crawford  with  this  memorable  quarrel  between  the 
two  first  officers  of  government,  is  too  well  known,  and 
has  been  too  much  censured,  to  be  passed  over  without 
a  most  rigorous  and  impartial  investigation  at  our 
hands ;  and  as  our  judgment  has  led  us  to  conclusions 
quite  variant  with  the  common  impressions  in  regard 
to  his  conduct,  we  shall  proceed  candidly  to  set  forth 
the  reasons  which  have  induced  such  conclusions. 

Crawford's  opposition  to  Calhoun  was  deep-rooted 
and  interminable ;  and  to  effect  his  defeat  he  began, 
early  in  the  fall  and  during  the  winter  of  1827,  to  cor- 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  239 

respond  extensively  with  his  friends  in  the  Western 
States,  denouncing  the  candidate  for  Vice  President  as 
unworthy  of  the  support  of  Jackson's  friends.  Among 
these  letters  was  one  written  to  Alfred  Balch,  of  Nash- 
ville, in  which,  after  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  one 
from  his  correspondent,  Crawford  goes  on  to  deprecate 
being  made  prominent  in  the  approaching  contest  for 
President,  declares  with  great  candor  his  preference 
for  private  life,  but  says,  nevertheless,  that  he  had 
already  authorized  Van  Buren  and  Cambreleng,  who 
had  visited  him  the  previous  April,  to  make  known  his 
opinions.  These  opinions  were  favorable  to  the  election 
of  Jackson  ;  but  Crawford  continues  by  asserting  that 
there  is  some  difficulty  in  consequence  of  Jackson's  as- 
sociation with  Calhoun.  Then  follows  a  series  of  accu- 
sations against  Calhoun,  fixing  upon  him  the  charges 
of  duplicity,  inconsistency,  and  enmity  to  Jackson. 
The  letter,  on  the  whole,  though  eminently  illustrative 
of  the  candor  and  honesty  which  had  ever  characterized 
Crawford's  intercourse  with  his  fellows,  is  a  wretched 
and  most  incoherent  specimen  of  composition,  showing 
much  more  of  determined  prejudice  than  of  care  or  taste. 
It  bears  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  the  finished 
compositions  which  had  emanated  from  its  author  in  the 
days  of  his  prime ;  his  speeches  in  the  Senate,  his  re- 
ports as  Secretary  of  War  and  of  the  Treasury,  and  his 
diplomatic  papers  while  Minister  to  France.  It  is  so 
awkwardly  expressed  in  some  parts,  and  the  commix- 
ture of  personal  pronouns  so  incongruously  strung  to- 
gether, as  to  require  every  auxiliary  of  emphasis,  pa- 
renthesis, and  all  kindred  resorts,  to  point  and  explain 
his  meaning.  True,  there  are  to  be  found  unmistakable 
traces  of  the  author's  mind,  though  not  the  mind  of 
1811 ;  the  polished  style  and  classic  elegance  which  dis- 
tinguished the  productions  of  his  zenith  are,  however, 


240  WILLIAM   H.    CKAWFOKD. 

nowhere  to  be  discerned  in  this  series  of  letters.  This 
fact,  of  itself,  must  be  held  to  demonstrate  what  has 
been  already  assumed  in  this  review,  that  the  intellect 
of  Crawford  had  been  seriously  impaired  by  the  attack 
with  which  he  was  visited  in  1824. 

This  and  other  letters  were  shown  to  Jackson,  but 
they  produced  no  visible  change  in  his  feelings  for  Cal- 
houn,  nor  did  they,  as  expected  and  hoped,  influence 
the  result,  so  far  as  Calhoun  was  concerned,  in  the 
popular  elections.  He  was  elected  Vice  President  by 
a  decisive  majority,  on  the  Jackson  ticket ;  but  the 
electoral  colleges  for  President  and  Vice  President  yet 
held  the  final  determination.  These  have  always  been 
held  with  peculiar  sacredness  in  our  system  of  govern- 
ment :  the  electors  are  the  trustees  of  the  high  sover- 
eign power  of  the  people  of  the  States,  as  it  relates  to 
the  choice  of  the  two  first  officers  under  the  Constitu- 
tion. The  degree  of  fidelity  with  which  this  trust  is 
thus  discharged,  controls  in  a  great  measure  the  opera- 
tion of  our  governmental  system.  Still  obstinately  bent 
on  effecting  the  political  ruin  of  one  he  held  to  be  so 
unworthy  of  confidence  as  Calhoun,  Crawford  did  not 
now  hesitate  even  to  strike  at  him  through  the  electoral 
colleges ;  he  wrote  certainly  to  two  of  his  friends,  and 
urged  them  "  to  use  their  influence  "  to  secure  his  ene- 
my's defeat  in  the  colleges,  when  they  should  respect- 
ively convene.  We  are  obliged  to  say,  that  while  this, 
strictly  speaking,  was  a  legal,  and  perhaps  an  honest 
course  of  political  opposition,  it  was  not  fair  or  unex- 
ceptionable. The  colleges  are  not  specifically  intrusted, 
but  the  received  opinion  is,  that  they  are  bound  to 
carry  out  the  popular  preference  as  evidenced  by  a 
majority  of  the  votes  cast  in  the  respective  States  which 
they  represent.  Every  body  knows  that  these  votes 
are  cast  with  reference  to  the  known  views  of  the  di£ 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  24 X 

* 

ferent  candidates  for  electors  who  are  before  the  people. 
The  successful  ticket  is,  therefore,  the  sure  index  of 
popular  preference  as  to  the  candidates  for  President 
and  Vice  President.  At  the  same  time,  then,  that  we 
insist  on  upholding  Crawford's  character  for  integrity 
and  candor,  we  most  decidedly  condemn,  in  view  of 
the  grounds  here  taken,  any  attempt  to  influence  an 
electoral  college  contrary  to  the  evidences  of  popular 
preference.  Jackson  and  Calhoun  were  recognized  as 
running  on  the  same  ticket  in  the  State  of  Tennessee, 
the  first  for  President,  and  the  last  for  Vice  President 
of  the  United  States.  This  had  been  proclaimed  by 
the  electoral  candidates,  and  the  people  had  voted  ac- 
cordingly ;  we  therefore  enter  protest  against  the  pro- 
priety of  Crawford's  course,  when  he  undertakes,  in  a 
letter  of  a  date  subsequent  to  the  popular  elections  of 
that  State,  to  persuade  his  friend  Campbell,  one  of  the 
successful  Presidential  electors,  to  endeavor  to  cut  off 
Calhoun  from  the  vote  of  Tennessee  as  Vice  President. 
Nothing  could  be  more  hurtful  to  the  integrity  of  our 
political  system  than  to  adopt  his  course  on  this  occa- 
sion as  a  legitimate  precedent.  That  will  be  the  sad- 
dest day  in  the  history  of  this  republic,  when  an  at- 
tempt to  countervail  and  nullify  the  popular  decisions 
shall  succeed  through  the  medium  of  extraneous  influ- 
ences brought  to  bear  upon  the  electoral  colleges. 
There  is  not  a  more  delicate  feature  belonging  to  the 
Federal  Constitution  than  the  mode  of  making  a  Presi- 
dent, and  its  very  delicacy  argues  its  wisdom.  The 
trust  is  one  entirely  of  honor,  and  dreadful  is  the  re- 
sponsibility of  accounting  to  the  people  for  the  forfeit- 
ure of  such  confidence;  the  very  absence  of  all  pre- 
scribed safeguards  to  enforce  compliance  with  their 
decision,  makes  dereliction  the  more  terrible  to  be  en- 
countered. If  there  was  a  legal  penalty  involved,  a 
11 


242  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFOKD. 

• 

legal  and  full  defence  would  be  necessarily  allowed. 
Both  are  precluded,  and  the  safety  of  our  government 
lies  in  the  strict  observance  of  the  sacred  obligation  im- 
posed on  the  electoral  colleges. 

The  fact  that  Crawford  wrote  letters  both  to  Gen- 
eral Campbell  and  Colonel  Barry,  urging  them  to  use 
their  influence  to  defeat  Calhoun  before  the  colleges,  is 
unquestionably  true ;  the  political  world  was  made  ac- 
quainted with  the  fact  more  than  twenty  years  since. 
That  he  intended  mischief  to  the  Constitution,  no  one 
can  or  will  say,  not  even  his  fiercest  enemies ;  but  that 
his  advice  involved  mischief,  is  clear  and  undeniable. 
That  advice  was  melancholy  evidence  of  his  waning 
faculties  of  mind,  which  were  now  too  far  impaired  to 
comprehend  prudential  political  considerations,  where 
no  direct  invasion  of  the  Constitution  or  the  law  was 
intended,  and  where  the  aim  was  to  defeat  a  man  whom 
he  honestly  thought  to  be  unprincipled  and  dangerous. 

This  project  failed  signally.  Calhoun  went  into  the 
office  of  Vice  President  by  a  triumphant  majority,  was 
considered  first  in  the  confidence  of  the  President,  and 
was  generally  regarded  as  the  most  prominent  aspirant 
for  the  succession.  Together,  he  and  Jackson  were  duly 
installed  on  the  fourth  day  of  March,  1829.  Every  thing 
went  on  prosperously  and  swimmingly  with  the  party  in 
power ;  the  administration  at  once  attained  to  a  popu- 
larity that  seems,  at  this  distance  of  time,  to  have  been 
nearer  akin  to  blind  idolatry  than  rational  approbation. 
The  country  went  mad  with  admiration  of  Jackson,  and 
his  favorites  and  ministers  were  so  far  lifted  along  on 
this  scale  of  popularity  as  to  be  thought  incapable  of 
doing  wrong ;  and  among  these,  Calhoun  stood  con- 
fessedly highest.  Having  failed  to  effect  his  overthrow, 
Crawford  had  now  retired  from  the  contest,  apparently 
reconciled  to  the  inevitable  course  of  events.  But  new 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  243 

actors  now  suddenly  appear  on  the  stage.  A  conspira- 
cy— for  it  can  be  called  by  no  other  name,  in  our  judg- 
ment— was  hatched  and  perpetrated,  of  which  Crawford 
was  made  the  unconscious  instrument,  of  which  Jack- 
son himself  was  the  dupe,  and  of  which  Calhoun  was 
the  victim.  This  was  to  drive  Calhoun  from  power  and 
popularity  by  destroying  him  in  the  confidence  of  the  now 
all-powerful  President.  The  same  motive  which  actu- 
ated Crawford's  efforts  in  the  late  election,  here  again 
prompted  him  to  pursue  Calhoun :  inveterate  personal 
enmity,  which  aimed  at  nothing  short  of  the  disgrace 
of  one  alike  distrusted  and  hated.  When  we  say  that 
Crawford  was  the  unconscious  instrument,  we  do  not. 
mean  to  say  that  he  was  unconscious  of  attempting  to 
ruin  Calhoun ;  we  think  it  is  quite  clear  that  he  was 
expressly  aiming  to  effect  that  end,  by  making  public 
certain  transactions  of  Monroe's  Cabinet,  which  had 
been  discussed  in  1818. 

On  a  sudden,  the  nation  was  astounded  with  the 
news  that  an  irreconcilable  feud  had  sprung  up  between 
the  President  and  Vice  President.  This  was  in  the 
spring  of  1830,  but  little  more  than  twelve  months 
since  the  inauguration.  A  copy  of  a  letter  had  been 
placed  in  Jackson's  hands,  which  excited  on  the  instant 
the  whole  ferocity  of  his  nature,  and  made  him  the 
mortal  foe  of  Calhoun.  This  letter  made  known  that, 
at  a  meeting  of  Monroe's  Cabinet  in  the  summer  of 
1818,  called  to  deliberate  on  the  events  of  the  Seminole 
war,  Calhoun  had  distinctly  proposed  that  the  com- 
manding general,  Jackson,  "  should  be  reprehended  in 
some  form,  or  punished  in  some  form,"  for  alleged  un- 
authorized and  illegal  conduct  in  the  prosecution  of 
said  war.  The  writer  of  this  letter  was  "William  H. 
Crawford,  and  it  was  directed  to  John  Forsyth,  one  of 
the  Senators  from  the  State  of  Georgia.  How  or  for 


244  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

what  reason  such  a  letter  was  wrung  from  Crawford  at 
such  a  time  is,  to  some  extent,  a  matter  of  conjecture 
to  this  day  ;  though  no  one  who  is  informed  of  all  the 
facts,  doubts  that  the  design  was  to  effect  a  personal 
breach  between  Jackson  and  Calhoun,  and  thereby  to 
destroy  the  political  consequence  of  the  latter.  Craw- 
ford had  authorized  Forsyth  to  show  his  letter  to  Cal- 
houn ;  this  is  proof  that  he  believed  what  he  said,  and 
that  he  desired  no  concealment.  Forsyth,  for  some 
reason,  did  not  comply ;  he  sent  the  letter  immediately 
to  Jackson,  and  Calhoun  never  saw  it.  A  copy  was 
given  to  him,  but  it  was  not  a  complete  copy ;  impor- 
tant and  significant  names  were  left  in  blank,  which  the 
author  would  have  scorned  to  conceal.  He  was  play- 
ing, if  not  a  magnanimous,  at  least  an  open  game. 
Crawford  was  the  last  man  on  earth  who  would  conde- 
scend to  palpable  meanness  or  to  disguise ;  he  was  both 
too  independent  and  too  fearless  to  resort  to  either. 
If  he  was  guilty  of  improprieties,  they  were  improprie- 
ties consequent  on  a  failing  and  an  erring  judgment, 
not  the  offspring  of  a  bad  heart  or  of  wilful  wrong. 
But  others  were  neither  so  nice  nor  so  frank.  We  are 
wholly  unable  to  find  an  excuse  for  Forsyth,  much  less 
for  the  contrivers  of  the  plot ;  we  think  that  Forsyth 
was  bound  to  show  the  original  letter  of  Crawford  to 
Calhoun,  as  directed,  before  he  gave  it  into  the  hands 
of  Jackson.  There  was  no  injunction  laid  on  him  by 
the  writer  to  show  it  to  Jackson  at  all,  though  few  will 
doubt  that  such  was  intended.  But  there  is  a  twofold 
reason  why  Crawford  must  have  desired  and  why  he 
directed  that  the  letter  should  be  shown  to  Calhoun  in 
the  original.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  due  to  candor 
and  fairness  of  dealing ;  and  in  the  next  place,  Crawford 
evidently  desired  that  his  enemy  might  have  the  chance 
of  attempting  a  correction,  if  he  had  inadvertently 


WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD.  245 

erred  in  the  statement  of  facts.  Had  his  directions 
been  followed,  the  main  correspondence  would  then 
have  occurred  between  himself  and  Calhoun,  instead  of 
between  Calhoun  and  Jackson.  Besides,  in  such  event, 
much  injury  might  have  been  averted  from  Calhoun,  as 
he  would  then  have  possessed  the  full  means  of  unravel- 
ling the  plot — the  suppressed  names  in  the  copy  being 
undoubtedly  the  index.  Much  mortification  might  also 
have  been  spared  to  Crawford.  After  the  correspond- 
ence had  been  opened  with  Jackson,  in  consequence  of 
Forsyth's  omission  to  obey  his  friend's  injunction,  Cal- 
houn peremptorily  and  quite  haughtily  refused  to  re- 
cognize Crawford  as  a  principal  in  the  controversy,  re- 
turned his  letters  with  a  most  insulting  reply,  and 
declined  all  correspondence  except  through  the  Presi- 
dent. We  must  say  that,  on  the  whole,  we  think  For- 
syth  occupied  quite  a  remarkable,  not  to  say  unenviable 
position  in  connection  with  this  affair ;  and  we  are  at  a 
loss  to  reconcile  Calhoun's  ready  admission  that  he  did 
not  allude  to  Forsyth  as  being  concerned  in  the  efforts 
which  were  being  made  to  cause  a  rupture  between 
Jackson  and  himself.  No  matter  what  may  have  been 
Forsyth's  motives  (and  these  we  shall  not  impeach),  it 
is  clear  that  the  breach  was  effected  through  his  imme- 
diate instrumentality.  At  the  request  of  one  Hamilton, 
of  New  York,  a  friend  and  political  ally  of  Van  Buren, 
Forsyth  writes  to  Crawford,  asking  a  statement  of  the 
Cabinet  transactions  of  1818,  relative  to  Jackson's  con- 
duct in  the  Seminole  war.  Hamilton  asked  this  of 
Forsyth  at  the  request  of  Jackson,  who  states  that  he 
was  induced  to  make  the  request  from  what  had  been 
told  a  friend  of  his  by  the  Marshal  of  Columbia  Dis- 
trict. This  certainly  looks  quite  mysterious,  especially 
in  view  of  Hamilton's  connections.  Who  was  the  friend 
that  had  thus  informed  Jackson  of  the  Marshal's  state- 


246  WILLIAM   H.    CRAWFORD. 

ment,  and  of  Hamilton's  knowledge  of  the  same  fact : 
viz.,  that  Calhoun  had  moved  to  punish  Jackson  at  the 
Cabinet  meeting  alluded  to  ?  This  personage  has  never 
been  positively  known,  though  conjecture  (and  circum- 
stances were  pointed  to  which  were  held  to  authorize 
such  conjecture)  has  settled  the  identity  on  Martin 
Van  Buren.  This  we  shall  not  attempt  to  confirm  or 
to  confute ;  but  it  is  clear  that  Forsyth's  interference 
at  this  period  of  the  plot  directly  caused  the  rupture 
between  the  President  and  Vice  President ;  and  his 
omission  to  comply  with  Crawford's  directions  to  show 
the  letter  to  Calhoun,  would  seem  to  imply,  on  his  part, 
at  least  a  very  questionable  indifference  as  to  the  re- 
sults that  were  sure  to  follow. 

During  the  progress  of  the  controversy,  several 
questions  of  veracity  arose  between  Crawford  and  Cal- 
houn, which  were  never  definitely  settled,  so  far  as  his- 
tory is  concerned.  The  first  of  these  was  in  relation  to 
a  letter  from  Jackson  to  President  Monroe,  dated  pre- 
vious to  the  invasion  of  the  Spanish  territories,  which 
Crawford  asserts  to  have  been  produced  at  the  Cabinet 
meeting  in  question.  This  Calhoun  denies  positively, 
and  brings  to  his  aid,  as  proof  of  the  denial,  a  long  ar- 
ray of  letters  from  various  heads  of  departments,  all  of 
whom  profess  to  recollect  nothing  about  such  a  letter 
as  Crawford  had  designated.  The  last  was  the  alleged 
change  of  opinion  on  Crawford's  part,  regarding  the 
conduct  of  Jackson  on  the  same  occasion.  Calhoun 
again  brings  in  letters  from  McDuffie  and  others  to  sub- 
stantiate the  charge.  We  shall  not  attempt  to  pass 
judgment  on  so  delicate  a  point ;  we  may  believe  that 
Crawford  was  liable  to  err,  and,  from  a  treacherous 
memory,  probably  to  mistake  facts,  inadvertently,  as 
most  men  may  do.  But  no  testimony  could  induce  us 
to  entertain  for  one  moment  the  charge  that  he  was 


WILLIAM   H.    CBAWFOKD.  247 

ever  guilty  of  deliberate  falsehood.  We  have  ever 
held  an  equally  high  estimate  of  Calhoun's  integrity, 
and  thus  feel  restrained  from  dwelling  further  upon  so 
unpleasant  a  matter.  In  long  years  after,  when  the 
immediate  families  and  friends  of  each  party  shall  have 
been  gathered  to  their  fathers,  and  when  feelings  in- 
duced by  the  controversy  shall  no  longer  glow  within 
living  bosoms,  then  the  impartial  reviewer  may  enter 
with  propriety  on  the  discussion,  and  thus  eviscerate 
the  truth  of  history. 

The  quarrel  between  Calhoun  and  Jackson  was  per- 
manent and  irreconcilable,  and  it  was  most  probably 
intended  by  those  who  had  fomented  it,  that  no  recon- 
ciliation should  take  place.  The  object  was  evidently 
much  more  allied  with  motives  of  political  advancement 
and  degradation,  than  with  private  enmities  and  prefer- 
ences. Calhoun  was  driven  from  power,  and  his  national 
popularity  sank  beneath  the  irresistible  fiat  of  his  more 
admired  though  less  gifted  rival.  He  never  afterwards 
regained  his  former  hold  on  the  affections  and  confi- 
dence of  the  American  people,  and  it  is  seriously  denied 
by  his  friends  that  he  ever  made  any  attempt  which 
looked  to  such  object.  He  quitted  the  post  of  Vice 
President,  and  obeyed  the  voice  of  his  beloved  State, 
which  had  called  him  to  the  United  States  Senate,  to 
there  expound  and  advocate,  with  his  great  powers  of 
mind  and  of  debate,  the  unfortunate  doctrine  of  nullifi- 
cation. He  devoted  the  balance  of  his  life  to  the  pro- 
mulgation and  defence  of  this  and  kindred  doctrines, 
and  became  wholly  sectionalized  in  feeling  and  in  con- 
duct, although  the  whole  country  acknowledged,  to  his 
dying  day,  the  powerful  influence  of  that  splendid,  com- 
manding intellect,  which  had  made  him  a  giant  of  his 
time,  and  had  sustained  him  in  all  his  parliamentary  con- 
flicts with  the  combined  forces  of  our  greatest  statesmen. 


MACAULAY'S    HISTOEY    OF    ENGLAND.* 

SINCE  the  days  when  the  celebrated  novels  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  were  issued  from  the  Edinburgh  press, 
and  heralded  forth  to  the  eager  and  admiring  world  as 
productions  from,  the  magic  pen  of  the  unknown  "  Au- 
thor of  Waverley,"  no  work  has  created  such  high  ex- 
pectations or  been  read  with  such  lively  enthusiasm  as 
that  now  before  us.  Indeed,  it  has  been  rather  de- 
voured than  read,  and  seems  to  have  been  sought  after, 
(if  we  may  be  pardoned  the  expression  in  connection 
with  so  popular  a  book,)  more  with  the  desire  to  gratify 
an  ephemeral  curiosity  than  with  a  view  to  solid  im- 
provement. This  species  of  furor  is  harmless  and  tol- 
erable when  produced  by  the  pompous  annunciation  of 
a  new  novel  from  Bulwer  or  Alexandre  Dumas ;  but  it 
is  very  apt,  if  not  quite  sure,  to  prove  fatal  in  the  end 
and  consequences,  to  the  permanent  popularity  and 
esteem  of  a  grave  history — and  more  especially  of  a 
history  of  England.  The  impressions  of  fiction  are 
pleasing,  light,  and  transient,  and  even  where  a  novel 
is  deficient  as  to  style  and  sound  moral  instruction,  the 
interest  of  the  story,  if  only  tolerably  sustained,  will 
rescue  it  from  harsh  or  condemnatory  judgment.  But 
it  is  far  different  with  a  work  of  history.  Diffuseness 
*  Macaulay's  History  of  England.  New  York  :  Qarper  and  Brothers. 


MACAULAT'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  249 

of  style,  sparkling  sentences,  entertaining  and  brilliant 
episodes,  occasional  and  tasteful  metaphors,  will  do 
well  in  romance,  and  it  is  mainly  in  romance  that  such 
things  are  looked  for  by  the  refined  lovers  of  literature. 
In  a  work  of  history  these  all,  in  our  humble  judgment, 
are  both  untasteful  and  sadly  out  of  place,  especially  if 
the  author's  ambition  is  directed  less  to  ephemeral  pop- 
ularity and  to  the  desire  for  speedy  profits,  than  to  a 
lasting  fame  and  lofly  place  among  historians  who  will 
be  read  in  after  ages  as  reliable  for  authority  and  refer- 
ence, as  well  as  for  useful  instruction.  We  shall  be 
much  deceived  if  the  brilliant  and  gifted  author  of  the 
work  now  before  us,  does  not  experience  the  truth  of 
the  above  remarks  before  many  years  will  have  passed. 
We  are  much  mistaken  if  Mr.  Macaulay  does  not  soon 
find  that  his  hopes  of  greatest  fame  must  rather  be  re- 
posed on  those  splendid  Selections  and  Miscellanies, 
recently  collected  and  published  from  among  his  nu- 
merous contributions  to  the  Edinburgh  Review,  than 
upon  this  work  of  greater  labor  and  higher  expecta- 
tions. The  first  may  challenge  not  admiration  only, 
but  the  severest  ami  harshest  scrutiny  also,  as  to 
beauty,  novelty  and  terseness  of  style,  acute  and  un- 
equalled powers  of  criticism,  splendor  of  description, 
correctness  and  vigor  of  judgment,  and  rare  fertility 
and  chasteness  of  imagination.  Besides  all  this,  the 
Miscellanies  are  replete  with  sound  lessons  of  instruc- 
tion in  ethics,  the  sciences,  and  politics.  They  abound 
with  nice  and  elaborate  iUustrations  of  human  character 
in  all  its  features,  and  of  human  nature  in  ah1  its  as- 
pects. Ah1  of  this  description  of  writing  that  we  find 
in  his  history,  we  shah1  find  previously  and  better  done 
in  his  Miscellanies.  Nor  is  Mr.  Macaulay  at  all  singular 
in  the  notion,  if,  indeed,  he  has  chosen  to  rest  his  repu- 
tation on  the  work  which  has  cost  him  most  time  and 
11* 


250  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

labor,  in  preference  to  what  he  doubtless  deems  his 
lighter  productions.  Both  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio 
were  engaged  for  years  in  writing  ponderous  volumes 
of  Latin  on  which  to  repose  their  fame,  and  through 
the  medium  of  which  they  had  fondly  expected  to  be 
handed  down  to  a  remote  posterity.  Yet  these  works 
of  labor  are  scarcely  known,  never  or  very  rarely  read, 
and  are  passing  from  all  connection  or  association  with 
their  names ;  whilst  the  Sonnets  of  the  first,  and  the 
enchanting  Decameron  of  the  last,  written  by  both  at 
intervals  of  leisure  and  as  mere  pastime,  have  attained 
to  a  world-wide  fame,  and,  as  specimens  of  elegant  and 
pure  Italian,  have  long  been  preserved  as  precious  and 
priceless  treasures  of  the  literature  of  the  fourteenth 
century.  Machiavelli  labored  arduously  and  long  at 
his  history  of  Florence,  a  work  which  embodies  vast 
learning  and  which  contains  many  reflections  that  afford 
a  clue  to  his  real  political  sentiments  and  governmental 
notions,  and  by  which  he  doubtless  hoped  to  live  in  the 
memory  of  after  generations.  Yet  it  wras  in  the  gloom 
and  sad  seclusion  of  a  prison  that  he  produced  that 
singular  little  volume, — singular  fcoth  for  its  power  of 
thought  and  atrocity  %of  sentiment, — which  has  con- 
signed him  to  an  eternal  fame  of  odium,  and  coupled 
his  name  with  that  of  "  the  Prince  "  of  demons.  Even 
Sir  "Walter  Scott  thought  seriously,  near  the  close  of 
his  unparalleled  career,  of  discarding  his  grandest  pro- 
ductions as  a  basis  on  which  to  rest  his  permanent 
fame,  and  even  boasted  at  the  well  known  "  Theatrical 
Fund  dinner,"  that  a  work  was  soon  to  see  the  light 
from  the  author  of  Waverley,  that  would  throw  all 
other  productions  from  that  celebrated  and  gifted 
source,  completely  into  minority  and  secondary  esti- 
mation. This  work,  thus  singularly  announced,  was 
his  life  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  Yet  the  contrary,  as 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND.  251 

doubtless  every  sagacious  hearer  imagined  when  the 
declaration  was  made,  has  been  the  case.  The  biogra- 
phy, except  for  the  beauty  and  power  of  its  style,  is 
generally  regarded  as  imperfect  in  point  of  main  facts, 
and  as  every  way  unworthy  of  its  illustrious  author ; 
while  the  novels, — read  now  in  every  class  of  society 
with  the  same  interest  and  enthusiasm  as  when,  years 
ago,  they  flew  from  the  press  like  lightning,  to  dazzle 
and  charm  a  bewildered  world, — have  been  long  set 
aside  and  marked  for  perpetual  stereotype.  Mr.  Ma- 
caulay,  then,  has  distinguished  associates,  if  indeed,  like 
them,  he  has  been  weak  enough  to  suppose  that  the 
volumes  before  us,  bearing  though  they  do,  the  marks 
of  untiring  labor  and  diligent  research,  will  be  hailed 
by  a  succeeding  generation  in  preference  to  his  Miscel- 
lanies, as  the  enduring  monument  of  his  fame. 

But,  apart  from  considerations  of  this  character,  it 
is  very  certain  that  no  book  of  the  present  time  has 
been  welcomed  from  the  press  with  such  general  lauda- 
tion and  eagerness,  or  read  with  such  blinded  avidity. 
So  popular  a  miscellaneous  writer  has  surely  not  ap- 
peared in  the  character  of  a  historian  since  the  days  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  And  although  we  must  candidly 
confess  our  disappointment  in  the  work,  yet  its  popu- 
larity is  so  great  and  the  prestige  of  the  author's  name 
so  overshadowing,  that  we  feel  it  to  be  an  act  of  pre* 
sumption  and  temerity  to  offer  even  the  least  disparag- 
ing criticism.  And  if  it  be  true  that  high  expectation 
is  almost  always  followed  by  disappointment,  as  Lord 
Jeffrey  remarks,  it  is  scarcely  possible  that  any  readers 
of  Macaulay's  history  should  not  be  disappointed.  It 
is  by  no  means  our  design  in  employing  this  remark  to 
reflect  upon  the  general  merits  of  the  production,  or  to 
depreciate  its  justly  high  fame,  even  were  it  in  our 
feeble  power  to  do  so.  On  the  contrary,  we  regard  it 


252  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

as  one  of  the  most  brilliant  and  entertaining  histories 
we  ever  read,  or  expect  ever  to  read.  True,  it  con- 
tains little  that  is  new  in  point  of  general  facts — little 
that  could  not  be  learned  from  Hume,  or  Fox,  or  Bur- 
nett. But  the  minutiae  of  those  facts  are  spread  out 
with  taste,  amplified,  and  explained  in  a  manner  that 
must  interest  even  the  most  fastidious.  The  concise 
and  discriminative  review  of  English  history,  previous 
to  the  epoch  on  which  he  intends  finally  and  principally 
to  treat ;  the  learned  and  methodical  disquisitions  on 
English  Church  History,  the  nice  and  finely  drawn  de- 
lineations of  party  differences  in  the  different  ages ;  the 
bold  portraitures  of  monarchs  and  statesmen  and  all 
descriptions  of  distinguished  persons,  either  in  politics 
or  ecclesiastical  history;  the  power  and  splendor  of 
diction,  the  brilliancy  of  description,  the  flashes  of  with- 
ering sarcasm,  the  beautiful  episodes,  the  occasional 
lovely  pictures  of  domestic  life,  of  love  and  of  death 
scenes  full  of  agreeable  pathos  and  tender  associations, 
— all  these,  and  much  else  that  might  be  justly  added, 
form  a  whole  of  vivid  and  absorbing  interest  that  could 
spring  only  from  a  mind  of  extraordinary  vigor  and 
versatility.  But  it  is  not  like  a  history  from  the  aus- 
tere pen  of  Hallam,  profoundly  collated,  tersely  con- 
densed, meditative,  and  perspicacious;  bringing  mat- 
ters to  the  test  of  severe  scrutiny  rather  than  of  super- 
ficial or  critical  review.  It  does  not  impress  with  the 
force  of  the  smooth,  well-arranged,  and  methodical 
narrative  of  Robertson.  We  do  not  find  in  its  pages 
the  analysis,  the  profound  philosophy,  and  rapid  but 
digested  condensation  of  Hume.  Mr.  Macaulay,  there- 
fore, must  not  expect,  when  the  "  hurly-burly's  done," 
and  when  the  buoyant  emotions  of  curiosity,  excited  as 
well  by  the  pompous  heraldry  of  interested  booksellers 
as  by  his  own  great  literary  reputation,  shall  give  place 


MACAULAY'S   HISTOBY    OP  ENGLAND.  253 

to  the  calm  and  sober  reflux  of  uncaptivated  judgment, 
to  sit  unchallenged  by  the  side  of  great  historians. 
That  time  will  surely  come,  and  it  is  not,  we  incline  to 
think,  very  distant.  He  who  has  so  often  wielded 
against  other  aspirants  to  a  like  high  place  the  fierce 
weapons  of  criticism,  must  not  think  to  be  allowed  to 
pass  unassailed  and  unscrutinized. 

Thus  far,  indeed,  our  author  has  swept  critics  and 
fault-finders  from  before  him,  and  the  public  has  sus- 
tained him.  The  only  prominent  critic  who  has  inked 
his  pen  for  the  task  of  review  was  so  bitterly  and  un- 
qualifiedly assaulted  by  editors  and  journalists,  so  bul- 
lied by  Quixotic  litterateurs,  and  so  worried  by  personal 
attacks,  that  his  effort  may  be  said  to  have  increased 
rather  than  diminished  the  popularity  of  the  work. 
There  were,  however,  two  all-sufficient  reasons  why  the 
merits  of  that  criticism  were  disregarded.  In  the  first 
place,  it  was  put  forth  at  an  ill-chosen  time.  The  whole 
literary  world  was  in  a  blaze  of  excitement  and  silly 
enthusiasm.  Had  the  excitement  been  of  a  rational 
character,  or  the  enthusiasm  been  kindled  by  less  furi- 
ous elements,  had  the  longings  of  rabid  curiosity  been 
in  the  least  degree  sated,  the  criticism  might  have 
been  received  and  treated  with  more  leniency.  But  a 
stronger  reason  against  its  favorable  reception  existed. 
It  was  known  that  it  was  from  the  pen  of  one  hostile  to 
Mr.  Macaulay,  and  who  owed  him  a  grudge.  This,  of 
course,  determined  its  fate.  But  the  circumstances  of 
the  case  are  different  now.  The  excitement  and  enthu- 
siasm are  fast  subsiding.  It  may  not,  therefore,  be 
deemed  presumptuous  to  scan  the  merits  and  demerits 
of  this  great  work,  impartially  and  fairly. 

The  introductory  chapter  of  this  history  is  written 
after  the  true  style  of  its  author.  No  one  who  has 
read  his  Miscellanies  could  fail  to  tell  that  both  must 


254  MACAULAY'S    HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND. 

be  from^the  same  gifted  pen.  It  abounds  with  excel- 
lent ideas  on  the  nature  and  consequences  of  early  his- 
torical events,  imparting  at  once  useful  information  and 
suggesting  whole  trams  of  deep  and  improving  reflec- 
tion. Especially  were  we  pleased  with  the  author's 
suggestions  concerning  the  ancient  pilgrimages,  the 
crusades,  abbeys,  and  the  spiritual  supremacy  arrogated 
by  the  Pope  in  the  dark  ages.  From  all  these  the  au- 
thor very  clearly  and  justly  deduces  important  and 
beneficial  results  on  society  and  on  governments.  The 
pilgrimages  caused  rude  and  barbarous  nations  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  refinements  and  civilization 
of  Italy  and  the  oriental  countries.  The  crusades  un- 
folded the  secret  of  the  benefits  to  be  derived  from  na- 
tional combinations,  or  coalitions  between  different 
powers  in  a  common  cause.  "  It  was  better,"  as  the 
author  says,  "  that  Christian  nations  should  be  roused 
and  united  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  than 
that  they  should,  one  by  one,  be  overwhelmed  by  the 
Mohammedan  power."  It  is  certain,  we  believe,  that  a 
superstitious  zeal  and  a  fanatical  spirit  saved  the  whole 
of  Europe,  011  this  occasion,  from  the  corrosive  influ- 
ences and  intellectual  darkness  of  Islamism.  Political 
considerations  merely,  on  the  rough  diplomacy  of  that 
early  age,  could  never  have  brought  about  those  im- 
mense and  formidable  combinations  which  diverted  the 
arms  of  Saladin  from  conquests  and  invasions,  and 
drove  him  to  defend  his  own  soil.  It  is  equally  certain 
that  if  priestcraft  had  not  in  that  age  been  predominant, 
and  literature  nursed  and  cultivated  in  quiet  cloisters, 
the  world  would  not  yet  have  witnessed  the  lapse  of 
the  dark  ages.  The  sombre  shadows  would  still  have 
rested  over  mankind,  and  the  lore  of  the  early  ages 
been  unrescued  from  the  womb  of  the  past.  The  spiri- 
tual supremacy  of  the  Pope  was  a  species  of  mild  patri- 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  255 

archal  dominion  which  formed  a  strong  bond  of  union 
between  the  nations  of  Christendom.  A  common  code 
of  international  or  public  law — a  fraternal  tie — an  en- 
larged benevolence,  were  among  the  happy  conse- 
quences of  this  supremacy,  generally  denounced  as 
arrogant  and  unrighteous  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man. 
"  Even  in  war,"  says  the  learned  author,  "  the  cruelty 
of  the  conqueror  was  not  seldom  mitigated  by  the  re- 
collection that  he  and  his  vanquished  foe  were  all  mem- 
bers of  one  great  federation."  It  is  to  the  reception  of 
the  Anglo-Saxons  into  this  religious  federation,  and  to 
the  consequent  inter-communication  between  the  Island- 
ers and  Italians,  that  Mr.  Macaulay  traces  the  first 
dawn  of  a  permanent  improvement  in  the  civilization 
and  literature  of  the  English  people. 

A  condensed  and  spirited  history  of  the  Norman 
character  and  conquest  follows  upon  these  reflections, 
and  then  the  author  travels  by  long  and  rapid  strides 
to  the  reign  of  John  of  Anjou,  the  brother  and  succes- 
sor of  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion.  An  event  in  this  reign 
which  has  been  generally  represented  by  English  histo- 
rians as  disastrous  and  disgraceful,  is  here  demonstrated 
by  the  author  as  having  been  the  basis  of  all  the  pros- 
perity and  glory  of  England.  This  event  was  the  ex- 
pulsion of  the  English  monarch  from  Normandy  by 
Philip  Augustus  of  France.  The  Norman  barons  and 
nobles  were  now  forced,  from  motives  of  interest,  to 
confine  themselves  and  their  hordes  of  wealth  to  the 
island.  They  began  to  look  on  England  as  their  coun- 
try, amalgamated  with  the  Saxons,  made  common 
cause  with  the  Saxons  against  a  bad  and  weak  monarch, 
and  then  followed  the  memorable  scenes  at  Runymede 
where  the  Magna  Charta  was  extorted;  Here,  says 
Mr.  Macaulay,  commences  the  history  of  the  English 
nation.  Mr.  Hallam  also,  in  the  first  part  of  his  "  Con- 


256  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OP  ENGLAND. 

stitutional  History,"  appended  to  his  Middle  Ages, 
speaks  of  this  event  as  having  been  the  first  effort  to- 
wards a  legal  government.  Yet  the  same  author,  in  a 
previous  chapter,  ascribes  the  date  of  many  of  the  lead- 
ing and  valued  features  of  the  English  Constitution  to 
a  period  earlier  than  the  reign  of  Alfred  the  Great ; 
and  in  another  sentence,  declares  that  there  is  no  single 
date  from  which  its  duration  is  to  be  reckoned."  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  the  main  features  of  the  judicial  system, 
and  especially  the  right  of  trial  by  jury  and  the  num- 
ber of  jurors,  were  in  existence  before  the  time  of 
Alfred,  were  further  improved  by  that  wise  monarch, 
and  were  at  last  confirmed  and  permanently  defined  in 
the  Great  Charter. 

No  reader  of  history,  it  is  true,  can  well  question 
the  fact  that  it  was  at  this  period  that  "  the  English 
people  first  took  place  among  the  nations  of  the  world ; " 
but  their  authentic  history,  many  of  the  noblest  and 
most  admired  features  of  their  great  Constitution,  may 
be  fairly  traced  to  a  period  of  time  much  earlier  than 
the  conquest.  The  Great  Charter  of  liberty — the  es- 
tablishment of  the  House  of  Commons — the  distribution 
of  civil  rights  to  all  classes  of  freemen — the  preservation 
of  national  independence  under  the  ancient  line  of  sov- 
ereigns, which  some  were  rashly  anxious  to  exchange 
for  the  dominion  of  France — the  definition  and  limita- 
tion of  the  king's  prerogative ;  all  these,  however,  date 
their  tangible  origin  and  adoption  from  this  period; 
and,  in  this  sense,  English  history  proper  may  also  date 
its  beginning  from  the  same  era. 

At  page  46  (Harper's  edition),  after  asserting  that 
it  is  doubtful  whether  England  owes  more  to  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  religion  or  to  the  Reformation,  the  author 
opens  his  account  of  the  origin  and  character  of  the 
Church  of  England.  Much  that  follows  is  tinctured 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  257 

with  a  good  deal  of  that  party  asperity  and  bias  which 
political  feeling  might  very  naturally  engender  in  the 
bosom  of  a  Whig  historian  when  treating  of  this  epoch. 
No  one  who  reads  these  pages  can  fail  to  discern,  at  a 
glance,  the  political  and  religious  sentiments  of  the  dis- 
tinguished historian.  It  is  perhaps  to  be  somewhat 
regretted  that  the  author,  in  this  instance,  had  not 
drawn  a  more  salutary  and  substantial  lesson  from  a 
complaint  which  he  bitterly  utters  on  a  previous  page ; 
viz.,  "the  drawback,"  which  English  history  has  re- 
ceived from  being  "  poisoned  with  party  strifes."  The 
author,  in  the  true  and  bigoted  Presbyterian  spirit, 
seeks  to  rob  the  church  of  all  claims  to  that  spiritual, 
apostolic  origin  which  eminent  and  erudite  divines  have 
long  labored  to  demonstrate  as  being  her  due.  With 
a  disputatious  reference  to  some  mere  petty  differences 
between  her  first  established  clergy,  Mr.  Macaulay  ab- 
ruptly narrows  down  and  attributes  the  origin  of  the 
church  to  a  motive  .of  political  necessity  alone — a  politi- 
cal "compromise"  between  conflicting  Protestants. 
He  will  find  many,  we  imagine,  to  disagree  with  him  on 
these  points.  It  is  an  attack  against  the  whole  plan  of 
spiritual  economy  inculcated  and  held  by  her  ablest 
ministers.  If  Mr.  Macaulay's  premise  and  reasoning  be 
true,  a  fatal  blow  is  given  to  the  high  pretensions  of 
the  church.  Episcopalians  believe,  and  labor  to  prove, 
that  the  church  proper  existed  in  England  long  prior 
to  the  date  of  Henry  VHL's  apostasy,  and  its  subse- 
quent permanent  recognition  and  establishment  under 
Elizabeth.  It  would  be  as  well,  they  would  contend,  for 
Mr.  Macaulay  to  assert  that  Christianity  itself  had  no 
tangible  or  respectable  existence  until  its  adoption  and 
legal  establishment  by  the  great  Constantine ;  for  what 
is  most  unquestionably  true,  until  that  period  the  Chris- 
tian religion  was  held  to  be  the  lowest,  most  contempti- 


258  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ble,  and  plebeian  form  of  religion  then  practised  in  the 
world,  and  scarcely  more  than  dared  to  show  its  face 
for  fear  of  utter  and  helpless  annihilation.  The  insig- 
nificance and  political  debasement  of  the  early  Anglican 
zealots,  the  Lollards  and  others  who  preceded  them, 
are  not  to  be  used  as  an  argument  adverse  to  their 
holy,  apostolic  calling,  if  we  believe  with  eminent  di- 
vines of  the  present  day.  English  bishops,  say  they, 
were  known  to  have  sat  in  the  Council  of  Nice,  a  coun- 
cil which  was  held  long  anterior  to  the  date  of  Augus- 
tin's  visit  to  the  British  Islands.  They  persuade  us 
that  the  flame  of  the  Church  was  burning  stealthily  but 
steadily  through  long  ages  of  persecution,  until  at  last, 
by  a  concurrence  of  great  events,  divinely  directed,  it 
shot  to  its  zenith  amid  the  tempests  of  the  Reforma- 
tion. Right  or  wrong,  therefore,  the  opinions  and  ar- 
guments of  learned  and  accomplished  prelates  clash 
directly  and  fundamentally  with  those  advanced  by  this 
great  historian.  In  his  character  of  reviewer,  Mr.  Ma- 
caulay  had  the  full  right  to  advance  and  maintain  such 
opinions,  and  none  could  find  fault  with  him.  It  was 
Ms  individual  opinion  only,  and  carried  no  further 
weight  than  his  personal  influence  and  consideration 
were  entitled  to  receive.  But  these  opinions  and  views 
carried  into  an  elaborate  historical  work,  intended  to 
be  used  as  authority,  and  as  a  guide  for  opinion  to 
future  generations,  is  quite  a  different  matter ;  and  we 
much  question  if  Mr.  Macaulay  will  meet  with  tacit 
assent  on  the  part  of  astute  and  proud  divines  of  the 
communion  of  the  English  Church  and  its  branches. 

His  character  of  Cranmer  too,  though  true  as  to 
fact  and  history,  must  be  viewed  more  as  a  caricature 
than  a  faithful  portrait  of  that  distinguished  and  unfor- 
tunate prelate.  If  governed  by  Mr.  Macaulay  alone, 
we  would  be  seriously  at  a  loss,  in  forming  our  relative 


MACAULAY'S  HISTOKY  OF  ENGLAND.  259 

estimate  of  character,  whether  to  plant  our  deepest  ab- 
horrence on  Cranmer,  the  hypocritical  villain,  or  Jef- 
freys, the  open  and  shameless  villain.  Certain  it  is  that 
no  previous  writer  of  English  history,  with  whose  works 
we  are  acquainted,  has  dealt  half  so  harshly  and  severely 
with  this  most  esteemed  of  all  Protestant  martyrs  who 
expiated  their  faith  in  the  flames  of  persecution.  In- 
deed, from  the  author's  frequent  reference  to  Bossuet, 
a  bitter  and  bigoted  Roman  Catholic  writer,  the  reader 
might  very  well  suppose,  that,  discarding  all  contem- 
poraneous English  authorities,  Mr.  Macaulay  had  as- 
siduously drawn  his  character  of  the  Archbishop  from 
the  jaundiced  picture  left  by  that  biassed  Frenchman. 
Even  Hallam,  who,  when  dissecting  character,  as  our 
author  himself  says  in  his  elegant  review  of  the  "  Con- 
stitutional history,"  most  generally  draws  on  the  "black 
cap,"  deals  with  remarkable  caution  and  kindness  when 
he  comes  to  speak  of  Cranmer.  He  attributes  his  faults 
more  to  the  effect  of  circumstances  than  of  intention, 
though  he  insinuates  that  the  Archbishop  might  have 
avoided  placing  himself  in  situations  where  those  cir- 
cumstances were  almost  sure  to  occur.  "  If,"  says  Mr. 
Hallam  in  his  Constitutional  history,  "  casting  away  all 
prejudice  on  either  side,  we  weigh  the  character  of 
this  prelate  in  an  equal  balance,  he  will  appear  far 
indeed  removed  from  the  turpitude  imputed  to  him  by 
his  enemies,  yet  not  entitled  to  extraordinary  venera- 
tion." This  is  a  mild,  and,  as  we  incline  to  believe,  a 
just  sentence.  If  Cranmer  was  entitled  even  to  vener- 
ation at  all,  he  cannot  have  been  considered  so  bad  a 
man  by  Mr.  Hallam  as  he  is  represented  to  have  been 
by  Bossuet,  with  whom  Mr.  Macaulay  mainly  agrees 
in  opinion.  Mr.  Hallam  condemns,  as  all  right-thinking 
men  must  condemn,  the  execution,  under  Cranmer's 
management,  of  the  woman  convicted  of  heresy,  and 


260  MACAULAY'S    HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND. 

of  a  Dutchman  who  was  found  guilty  of  teaching  Arian- 
*sm.  Yet  these  religious  atrocities  were  the  prevailing 
sin  and  shame  of  the  age,  and  may  be  ascribed,  in  this 
instance,  more  to  the  weakness  and  intolerance  of  edu- 
cation, and  to  the  influence  of  generally  sanctioned  cus- 
tom, than  to  any  rancorous  or  unusual  malignity  on  the 
part  of  Cranmer. 

A  truly  charitable  and  unbiassed  mind  will  find 
much  in  the  melancholy  scenes  of  Cranmer's  closing 
days  to  palliate,  if  not  to  justify  his  alleged  errors  and 
weaknesses.  He  had  been  marked  by  Mary,  and  her 
vindictive  advisers,  as  a  victim,  for  whom  death,  speedy 
and  without  torture,  was  not  deemed  a  sufficient  pun- 
ishment. His  grave,  unassuming  piety,  his  anti-Catho- 
lic counsels  to  Henry  the  Eighth,  the  reverence  with 
which  he  was  regarded  by  the  Protestant  world,  his 
equally  notorious  opposition  to  Mary's  succession,  his 
exalted  position  in  the  Church,  and  his  abhorrence  of 
papal  supremacy,  were  all  taken  into  account  in  that 
barbarous  reckoning  which  possessed  the  bosom  of  the 
fierce  and  implacable  queen,  and  prompted  her  to  visit 
such  awful  and  appalling  vengeance  on  the  eldest  Pa- 
triarch of  the  Church  of  England.  With  this  view, 
Cranmer,  in  the  first  place,  was  committed  to  the 
Tower  for  treason,  in  September,  1553,  a  short  time 
after  Mary's  accession  to  the  throne.  In  the  month 
following  he  was  convicted  of  this  crime  for  his  share 
in  Lady  Jane's  proclamation.  An  inhuman  motive 
soon  prompted  Mary  to  pardon  him ;  and  then  began 
the  first  scene  in  that  bloody  drama.  It  was  resolved 
to  take  his  life  for  heresy,  the  more  to  satiate  revenge, 
and  to  signalize  his  execution.  With  this  view  he  was 
cited  to  appear  before  the  Pope  at  Rome,  and  although 
a  close  and  guarded  prisoner  in  England,  was  promptly 
condemned  for  his  non-appearance  as  contumacious. 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  261 

His  first  punishment  was  degradation  at  the  hands  of 
one  who  was  nearer  akin,  in  his  nature,  to  fiends  than 
to  men — Bishop  Bonner.  Then  Mary  began  with  her 
blandishments  and  unholy  cajoleries.  His  total  infamy 
and  dishonor,  before  death,  was  the  object  of  these  de- 
ceits. Cranmer  was  visited  and  entertained  by  Catho- 
lic dignitaries,  was  treated  with  marked  courtesy  and 
hospitality  by  the  queen's  servants,  was  tempted  by 
every  allurement  of  hope,  was  courted  to  his  doom  by 
every  seductive  art.  High  expectations  of  preferment 
were  flatteringly  held  out  to  him,  and  then,  by  way  of 
awful  contrast,  and  to  confirm  the  work  of  flattery  by 
arousing  his  fears,  the  warrant  for  his  execution  was 
shown  to  him.  Cranmer,  overcome  by  a  natural  fond- 
ness for  life,  and  appalled  by  the  prospect  of  the  tor- 
tures which  awaited  him,  unwarily  fell  into  the  snare. 
He  signed  his  recantation  of  the  Protestant  faith,  and 
subscribed  to  that  of  papal  supremacy,  and  of  the  real 
presence.  Then  the  monsters  of  the  queen's  vengeance 
mockingly  laughed  in  his  face,  and  were  unable  to  con- 
ceal their  fiendish  exultation. .  Cranmer  at  once  saw 
through  the  plan,  and  divined  his  fate.  But  he  re- 
solved to  thwart  their  unholy  schemes,  and  to  turn  his 
recent  apostasy  and  his  awful  death  to  the  benefit  of 
his  beloved  Church.  When  it  was  believed  that  he 
was  about  to  make  a  public  confession  of  his  conversion 
to  popery,  and  when  the  church  to  which  he  was  car- 
ried was  filled  with  crowds  of  anxious  and  exultant 
Catholics,  Cranmer  surprised  his  audience  by  solemnly 
abjuring  his  recent  recantation,  by  confessing  humbly 
his  weakness,  and  by  declaring  his  firm  resolve  to  meet 
death  as  a  martyr  to  the  Protestant  religion.  He  was 
immediately  hurried  to  the  flames,  and  died  heroically. 
This,  surely,  cannot  be  the  man,  allowing  for  all  his 
human  and  natural  weaknesses  of  character,  whom  Mr. 


262  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Macaulay  bitterly  stigmatizes  as  "  saintly  in  his  profes- 
sions, unscrupulous  in  his  dealings,  zealous'for  nothing, 
bold  in  speculation,  a  coward,  and  a  time-server  in  ac- 
tion," and  as  one  every  way  qualified  to  bring  about  a 
coalition  of  church  and  state,  where  religion  was  to  be 
sacrificed  to  policy !  This  same  man  is  eulogized  by 
David  Hume,  the  most  learned  and  accomplished  of  all 
English  historians,  "  as  a  man  of  merit ;  as  possessed  of 
learning  and  capacity,  and  adorned  with  candor,  sin- 
cerity, and  beneficence,  and  all  those  virtues  which 
were  fitted  to  render  him  useful  and  amiable  in  socie- 
ty." Sir  James  Mackintosh  goes  even  further  than 
Hume,  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  these  two  were  pos- 
sessed of  quite  as  many  facts,  and  full  as  much  infor- 
mation, concerning  Cranmer's  character,  as  Mr.  Macau- 
lay.  We  are  told  by  Mackintosh,  when  speaking  of 
the  primate,  that  "  courage  survived  a  public  avowal 
of  dishonor,  the  hardest  test  to  which  that  virtue  can 
be  exposed ;  and  if  he  once  fatally  failed  in  fortitude, 
he,  in  his  last  moments,  atoned  for  his  failure  by  a 
magnanimity  equal  to  his  transgression."  The  united 
testimony  of  these  distinguished  and  impartial  histo- 
rians, united  on  points  which  contravene  materially 
that  of  our  author,  though,  doubtless,  collated  from 
the  same  sources,  should  serve  to  qualify,  to  some 
extent  at  least,  in  the  reader's  mind,  the  distorted  and 
uninviting  portraiture  of  this  venerable  prelate's  char- 
acter, as  given  by  Macaulay,  with  such  bitter  emphasis. 
We  do  not  doubt  that  Cranmer  was  faulty  in  many 
particulars,  and  deeply  so  ;  but  it  is  going  further  than 
history  would  seem  fairly  to  warrant  to  characterize 
him  as  base,  crafty,  hypocritical,  and  perfidious. 

We  come  next  to  one  of  the  most  interesting  di- 
visions of  the  first  chapter,  and,  indeed,  of  the  whole 
volume.  It  is  ground  on  which  Mr.  Macaulay  may 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY  OF   ENGLAND.  263 

tre^d  fearlessly,  for  he  has  elsewhere  evinced  that  he  is 
thoroughly  master  of  the  whole  subject.  We  mean 
the  reign  of  the  first  Charles,  "a  period,"  says  the 
author,  "  when  began  that  hazardous  game,  on  which 
were  staked  the  destinies  of  the  English  people."  It 
is  truly  delightful  to  travel  along  with  the  author 
through  this  portion  of  his  task.  You  see,  at  every 
stage,  the  unmistakable  impress  of  the  great  mind, 
with  whose  thoughts  you  have  grown  familiar  in  the 
Miscellanies.  Every  scene  of  the  preliminary  drama 
of  the  rebellion,  is  brought  vividly  before  the  mind's 
eye,  and  every  part  and  feature  of  each  scene,  even  to 
the  minutest  details,  are  as  vividly  arrayed.  No  one 
can  rise  from  the  perusal  of  this  account  of  that  in- 
teresting period  without  a  feeling  of  conscious  improve- 
ment and  instruction,  without  feeling  that  he  has  be- 
come much  better  acquainted  with  the  causes  and 
character  of  a  contest  which  exercised  such  mighty 
influence  on  the  English  Government.  The  dawn  of 
the  coming  strife — the  contests  between  king  and  par- 
liament, growing  gradually  fiercer  as  we  turn  each 
page — the  towering  energy  and  unbridled  ambition  of 
the  one,  often  so  mortifyingly  humbled ;  the  mild  and 
adroit  opposition  of  the  last,  untiring,  undivertible, 
proof  alike  against  bullying  and  cajolery,  and  at  last 
strengthening  into  open  and  formidable  resistance ; — 
the  rush  and  confusion  of  civil  war ; — the  impetuosity 
of  the  gallant  cavalier; — the  calculating,  irresistible 
strategy,  the  cautious  ambition,  the  vaulting  aspira- 
tions of  Cromwell,  never  revealed  till  developed  by  the 
consequences,  yet  never  miscalculated  or  misdirected  ; 
— the  trial,  execution,  and  heroic  fortitude  of  the  un- 
fortunate Charles,  are  all  pictured  with  startling  effect, 
and  treated  in  a  way  which  tells  all  who  read  that  a 
master's  hand  is  guiding  them  through  the  mazes  of  a 


264  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY    OP   ENGLAND. 

period  in  the  world's  history,  where  small  minds  should 
never  intrude  for  other  purpose  than  to  inquire. 

We  cannot  find  that  our  author  anywhere  condemns 
the  execution  of  the  king  as  an  act  of  injustice,  or 
moral  turpitude,  on  the  part  of  his  grim  slayers.  Yet 
we  must  venture  to  say  that  we  have  always  viewed  it 
as  such  in  the  most  aggravated  form,  at  the  same  tune 
that  we  fully  admit  the  faults  and  crimes  of  Charles. 
We  can  never  be  brought  to  believe  that  subjects  have 
the  right  to  inflict,  in  cold  blood,  and  under  a  mock 
form  of  trial,  the  last  penalty  of  the  offended  law,  or 
rather,  as  in  all  instances  of  this  character,  of  no  law  at 
all,  on  the  person  of  their  constitutional  and  legitimate 
monarch.  Yet  we  do  not,  by  any  means,  subscribe  to 
the  doctrine  of  passive  obedience.  We  object  only  to 
the  character  of  the  remedy.  The  punishment  of  James 
the  Second  was  quite  as  efficacious,  as  to  consequences, 
as  the  more  revolting  punishment  which  overtook  his 
hapless  brother.  One  is  justifiable  and  proper,  and  the 
undoubted  right  of  every  free  people ;  the  last  is  odi- 
ous, unwarranted,  and  wholly  inexcusable,  in  point  of 
justice  and  sound  morality.  It  cannot  be  defended 
even  on  the  grounds  of  necessity,  policy,  or  example. 
The  banishment  or  imprisonment  of  Charles  would  have 
been  sufficient  security  to  the  new  government,  as  was 
evidenced  both  in  the  case  of  Charles  the  Second,  and 
of  James  the  Second ;  and  as  the  ofiice  of  king  was 
about  to  be  abolished,  it  was  needless  on  the  score  of 
example. 

Mr.  Macaulay,  however,  in  a  most  beautiful  and 
powerful  passage,  demonstrates  the  execution  of  Charles 
to  have  been,  if  not  a  crime,  at  least  that  which  Fouche 
pronounced  as  worse  than  crime,  a  political  blunder. 
His  public  execution,  his  fortitude,  his  Christian  meek- 
ness and  courage  in  view  of  death,  his  adroit  protest 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  265 

against  the  forms  and  authority  of  his  condemnation, 
his  public  appeal  in  favor  of  the  ancient  and  venerated 
laws  of  the  realm,  threw  all  advantages  against  his 
enemies,  and  clothed  him  in  the  apparel  of  a  martyr. 
"  From  that  day,"  says  our  author,  "  began  a  reaction 
in  favor  of  monarchy  and  of  the  exiled  house,  a  reac- 
tion which  never  ceased  till  the  throne  had  again  been 
set  up  in  all  its  old  dignity." 

The  succeeding  pages,  descriptive  mainly  of  the 
Protectorate  of  Oliver,  though  written  with  great 
power  of  argument,  and  perspicuity  and  splendor  of 
style,  betray  again  the  evident  penchant  of  the  learned 
author  to  lay  hold  on  every  thing  which  may  be  wield- 
ed, even  through  the  august  medium  of  history,  in 
favor  of  the  principles  and  political  tenets  of  that  party 
to  which  he  is  so  prominently  attached.  The  English 
people  may  well  be  proud  of  the  government  of  the 
great  Protector,  but,  to  the  eye  of  Mr.  Macaulay,  it 
seems  to  afford  peculiar  charms.  The  praises  which 
he  has  taken  care  to  "  dole "  (begging  his  pardon  for 
using  a  phraseology  which  we  humbly  think  he  has 
fairly  ridden  down  in  these  volumes)  so  sparingly  out 
to  the  monarchs  and  statesmen  at  whom  he  has  been 
previously  glancing,  ingeniously  lavished  on  this  cold- 
hearted,  unprincipled,  though  gifted  usurper,  with 
showery  profusion.  Not  that  there  is  aught  of  elabo- 
rated eulogy  or  fulsome  panegyric.  Every  body  ac- 
quainted with  his  writings  must  know  that  Mr.  Macau- 
lay  does  not  at  all  belong  to  this  class  of  authors.  He 
possesses  too  much  of  taste  and  stern  unbending  inde- 
pendence for  such  a  task.  He  appears  greatly  to  pre- 
fer the  office  of  judge  to  that  of  advocate,  of  censor  to 
that  of  flatterer.  But  he  seems  now  to  forget,  or  to 
be  too  willing  to  pass  over  the  crimes  and  odious  quali- 
ties of  the  regicide  in  the  high  admiration  which  he  evi- 
12 


266  MACATJLAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

dently  feels  for  the  lofty  genius  and  bold  character  of 
the  Protector  of  England's  proud  Commonwealth.  At 
the  same  time  he  cannot  refrain  from  an  occasional  tilt 
with  his  favorite  weapons  of  sarcastic,  crushing  ridicule 
against  the  sanctimonious  pretensions  and  drawling 
hypocrisy  of  this  arch  politician  and  intriguer.  Whilst 
we  hear  much  of  the  glory  and  greatness  of  the  Pro- 
tectorate— its  formidable  power — its  prominent  um- 
pirage  in  Europe — the  dread  it  inspired  abroad — the 
respect  it  extorted  at  home ;  we  are  reminded  now  and 
then  of  the  author's  fondness  for  "  old  Mortality,"  or 
"  Woodstock,"  by  a  sly  thrust  at  corporal  preachers, 
versed  in  Scripture,  leading  the  devotions  of  back- 
sliding colonels  and  majors ;  at  canting,  sour-faced 
hucksterers  who  cover  a  thirst  for  blood  under  the 
garb  of  righteousness  and  godly  pretensions,  and  at  the 
contemptible,  ludicrous  picture  of  Lord  Oliver's  Bare- 
bones  Parliament. 

But  it  is  very  easy  to  perceive  from  a  perusal  of 
this  portion  of  the  history,  when  taken  in  connection 
with  other  productions  from  the  same  gifted  pen,  that 
Mr.  Macaulay  is  not  only  a  Roundhead  in  sympathy 
and  political  prejudices,  but  that,  of  all  great  men  who 
have  ever  stamped  undying  influence  upon  the  world, 
Cromwell  occupies  the  first  and  highest  place  in  his 
estimation.  Whether  this  exalted  opinion  of  one  so 
generally  hated  by  all  readers  of  history,  is  induced  by 
an  undisguised  detestation  of  Charles  and  his  party,  or 
by  an  excusable  pride  in  the  glory  which  Cromwell 
threw  around  English  character,  or  by  community  of 
political  and  religious  predilections,  we  shall  not  ven- 
ture to  say.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  while  our 
author  ranks  him  inferior  to  Caesar  only  in  taste  and 
polite  accomplishments,  he  places  him  far  ahead  of  Na- 
poleon in  native  strength  of  mind,  and  in  all  the  car- 


MACAFLAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  267 

dinal  qualities  (invention  only  excepted)  which  form 
the  characters  of  truly  great  men.  We  do  not  find 
this  comparison  in  the  pages  which  now  lie  open  before 
us ;  but  we  find  it  in  pages  far  more  brilliantly  written, 
brilliant  as  these  are,  and  where  it  is  evident  Mr.  Ma- 
caulay  spent  his  principal  force  of  thought  and  power 
of  composition.  Indeed,  the  character  of  Cromwell  is 
far  more  forcibly  drawn  in  the  admirable  review  of 
Hallam's  Constitutional  History  by  this  author,  than  in 
the  more  labored  work  of  his  English  history."  It  is 
from  the  review  that  we  derive  our  opinion,  mainly,  of 
the  author's  antipathies  and  predilections.  Indeed,  the 
recollection  of  these  previously  expressed,  and,  doubt- 
less, more  candid  sentiments,  prepared  us  to  examine 
this  portion  of  the  history  closely  and  cautiously.  We 
wished  to  guard  against  unwary  temptations  by  a  bril- 
liant author,  who  might  carry  into  a  work  of  history 
the  bias  of  early  and  cherished  prejudices,  and  the 
influences  of  that  Jesuitical  acerbity  of  thought  which 
kindles  so  easily  in  the  mind  of  a  partisan  reviewer. 
We  now  find  that  we  did  not  act  unwisely.  The  same 
course  of  thought,  and  the  same  one-sided,  prepossessed 
judgment  which  we  easily  discover  in  the  reviewer,  we 
find  existing  in  all  their  original  force  in  the  mind  of 
the  historian,  only  somewhat  retrenched,  perhaps,  and 
attempered  more  to  the  graver  character  he  now  as- 
sumes. The  Cromwell  of  the  review,  so  feelingly  and 
eloquently  eulogized,  is  eminently  the  Cromwell  of  the 
history.  The  only  discernible  shade  of  difference  is, 
that,  in  the  last,  the  scope  of  the  reflector  through 
which  the  reader  looks,  although  one  and  the  same  in 
both  cases,  is  sensibly  and  prudently  diminished. 

We  were  not  a  little  startled  on  finding  that  Mr. 
Macaulay,  by  a  kind  of  specious  negative  insinuation 
rather  than  by  direct  assertion,  attempts  to  persuade 


268  MACATJLAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

his  readers  of  a  fact  which  we  have  never  hesitated  to 
disbelieve.  This  is,  that  Cromwell  at  one  time  had  se- 
rious notions  of  interfering  to  save  the  King  from  mur- 
der by  his  infuriated  partisans — infuriated,  too,  by 
Oliver's  own  artful  teachings  and  profound  intriguings. 
Our  author  even  goes  farther,  in  another  place,  and  en- 
deavors to  leave  the  inference  that  Cromwell,  if  he  had 
been  left  alone,  would  have  desired  to  restore  the  Stu- 
arts. The  two  passages  from  which  we  take  these  im- 
pressions are  the  following :  "  Cromwell  had  to  deter- 
mine whether  he  would  put  to  hazard  the  attachment 
of  his  party,  the  attachment  of  his  army,  his  own  great- 
ness, nay,  his  own  life,  in  an  attempt  which  would 
probably  have  been  vain,  to  save  a  Prince  whom  no 
engagement  could  bind.  With  many  struggles  and 
misgivings,  and  probably  not  without  many  prayers, 
the  decision  was  made — Charles  was  left  to  his  fate." — 
(p.  119.)  Again,  a  few  pages  afterward,  we  meet  with 
the  following  in  describing  the  dilemma  in  which  Oliver 
found  himself  placed  after  he  had  slain  his  sovereign  : 
"  The  course  afterward  taken  by  Monk  was  not  open  to 
Cromwell.  The  memory  of  one  terrible  day  separated 
the  great  regicide  forever  from  the  house  of  Stuart." — 
(p.  124,  vol.  1.) 

Now,  in  the  first  place,  Mr.  Macaulay  will  find  it 
difficult  to  persuade  most  of  his  readers  that  this  crafty 
usurper  ever  put  up  a  sincere  prayer  after  he  had  be- 
gun his  public  career,  or  after  the  first  faint  sparks  of 
his  lurking  ambition  had  begun  to  kindle  and  burn. 
Measuring  the  rise,  and  the  stealthy,  deeply-planned 
progress  of  this  amazing  career  by  its  still  more  amaz- 
ing consequences,  no  one  can  fail  to  perceive  that  from 
the  very  first  outbreak  of  civil  war,  the  designs  of 
Cromwell  were  directed  to  nothing  less  than  supreme 
power.  His  own  mysterious  and  politic  conduct  on  all 


MACAUIAY'S   HISTOKY    OF  ENGLAND.  269 

important  occasions,  the  assiduous  court  which  he  man- 
aged always  to  pay  to  the  army  while  training  and 
inuring  it  to  the  strictest  discipline,  his  fierce  and  unre- 
lenting mode  of  carrying  on  the  war,  together  with  the 
concurrent  opinions  of  all  previous  writers  of  English 
history,  leave  this  clearly  to  be  deduced. 

In  the  second  place,  it  is  quite  discernible,  we  think, 
that  Mr.  Macaulayt  in  his  great  zeal  to  throw  every 
palliative  circumstance  around  the  character  of  his 
great  favorite,  has  been  led  to  adopt  this  opinion  from 
contemporaneous  journals  and  memoirs  of  interested 
witnesses,  many  of  whom  are  referred  to  and  quoted  by 
Mr.  Hallam.  Ministers,  officers,  and  associates  (who 
mainly  compose  this  class  of  writers),  who  survived 
Oliver,  and  who  lived  after  the  Restoration,  would  be 
very  naturally  inclined  to  interpolate  every  thing  of 
this  character  in  their  account  of  a  period  which  was 
abhorrent  to  the  reigning  family — and  the  friends  of 
the  Protector  had  too  long  possession  of  the  public 
archives  and  documents,  and  were  too  wily  and  saga- 
cious to  have  neglected  such  an  opportunity  of  prepar- 
ing for  a  reverse  or  reaction.  If,  a  century  or  two 
hence,  a  historian  of  the  French  Consulate  and  Empire 
were  to  build  up  the  character  of  Napoleon  from  mate- 
rials of  this  description  alone,  and  to  discard  those  more 
vigorous  tests  of  deeds  which  the  Saviour  of  mankind 
himself  inculcated  as  the  true  standard  of  judgment, 
and  to  which  selfish  man  must  be  brought  if  we  would 
ascertain  his  true  nature — who  of  that  generation  could 
question  the  patriotism  or  purity  of  a  single  act  of  his 
public  life  ?  We  choose,  therefore,  to  put  aside  all 
evidence  of  this  character  in  making  up  an  opinion  of 
Cromwell,  and  to  trust  to  it  no  further  than  it  can  be 
legitimately  reconciled  to  his  deeds.  By  those  deeds 
and  their  intrinsic  merits  must  we  alone  seek  to  meas- 


270  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ure  the  great  Protector.  The  feats  of  personal  prowess 
performed  on  the  field  of  Marston  Moor,  the  consum- 
mate generalship  so  conspicuously  displayed  at  the  de- 
cisive battle  of  Naseby,  the  haughty  expulsion  of  the 
Long  Parliament,  was  no  more  done  by  Oliver  to  save 
Charles's  life  or  to  restore  the  Stuart  dynasty  than  was 
the  fiery  charge  of  Napoleon  at  Arcola,  or  the  disper- 
sion of  the  French  deputies  at  St.  Cloud  hazarded  with 
the  view  of  restoring  the  Bourbons.  Covetousness  of 
supreme  power,  ambition  to  rise  on  the  ruins  of  govern- 
ment, were  the  governing  influence  and  chief  motive 
with  both  the  stern  Englishman  and  adroit  Corsican. 

The  concluding  pages  of  the  first  chapter  abound 
with  the  vigorous  and  spirited  description  characteristic 
of  this  writer.  They  are  read  with  the  intense  interest 
which  is  created  when  one  is  drawing  nigh  to  the 
denouement  of  a  novel  like  Kenilworth  or  Woodstock. 
Like  the  novelist,  our  author  holds  his  readers  in  a  de- 
lightful suspense  when  dwelling  upon  the  feigned  ir- 
resolution of  Monk ;  and  we  almost  forget,  in  our  ad- 
miration of  the  singular  power  with  which  the  exciting 
scenes  are  brought  to  their  conclusion,  that  the  catas- 
trophe has  been  familiar  to  us  from  childhood.  Fancy 
pictures  with  a  vividness  that  amounts  almost  to  reality, 
the  eager  suspense  in  each  countenance,  when  first  the 
tidings  of  Monk's  advance  were  announced  in  London. 
Then  appears  the  whole  gorgeous  panorama  of  which 
all  England  was  the  scene.  Hill  and  vale,  field  and 
forest,  teem  with  multitudes  flocking,  with  open  arms, 
to  welcome  the  hardy  legions  of  the  Scottish  army. 
Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  Monarchists  and  Republi- 
cans, Churchmen  and  Regicides,  make  up  this  enthusi- 
astic and  strange  assemblage — all  united  against  one 
artful  and  dangerous  faction.  Every  eye  is  now  anx- 
iously turned  on  the  cold-blooded,  taciturn,  inscrutable 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  271 

general,  on  whose  decision  rests  the  destiny  of  England. 
At  length  he  summons  that  convention  which  invited 
the  long  exiled  and  friendless  monarch  to  the  home  and 
inheritance  of  his  ancestors.  Then  are  seen  the  flushed 
cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  of  the  down-trodden,  perse- 
cuted cavaliers,  whose  lips,  after  long  years  of  tortuous 
silence,  are  now  at  last  unsealed — and  the  excited 
reader  almost  finds  himself  listening  to  catch  the  wild 
strains  which  ascend  heavenward,  as  thousands  of  glad 
voices  mingle  in  chanting  one  of  those  pensive  lays 
which  were  treasured  secretly  during  the  iron  sway  of 
"  Old  Noll,"  and  rude  snatches  of  which  Sir  Walter 
Scott  so  aptly  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  unique  charac- 
ter of  Roger  Wildrake  : — 

"  Though,  for  a  time,  we  see  Whitehall, 
With  cobwebs  hung  around  the  wall, 
Yet  heaven  shall  make  amends  for  all, 
When  the  king  enjoys  his  own  again." 

Then  opens  the  beautiful  picture  which  closes  all, 
and  which  our  author  so  briefly  but  brilliantly  describes. 
We  see  again  that  exciting  scene  which  so  charmed  us 
in  the  closing  pages  of  Woodstock.  Clouds  of  dust  in 
the  distance,  blazing  rockets  streaming  against  the 
brighter  rays  of  the  sun,  tell  us  that  the  restored  wan- 
derer is  approaching.  "  Onward  come,  pursuivant  and 
trumpet ;  onward  come,  plumes  and  cloth  of  gold,  and 
waving  standards  displayed,  and  swords  gleaming  to 
the  sun ;  and,  at  length,  heading  a  group  of  the  noblest 
in  England,  and  supported  by  his  royal  brothers  on 
either  side,  onward  comes  King  Charles."  *  He  is  seen 
to  pass  amid  smiles  of  welcome,  and  tears  of  joy,  and  ex- 
ultant acclamation.  But  what  sullen,  sour,  staid  faces 
are  those  which,  amidst  this  general  joy,  alone  venture 
*  Woodstock— page  283,  vol.  2. 


272  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND. 

to  frown  at  the  monarch's  approach  ?  Let  the  answer 
be  given  in  the  matchless  language  of  our  author. 
"  On  Blackheath  the  army  was  drawn  up  to  welcome 
the  sovereign.  He  smiled,  bowed,  and  extended  his 
hand  graciously  to  the  lips  of  the  colonels  and  majors. 
But  all  his  courtesy  was  vain.  The  countenances  of  the 
soldiers  were  sad  and  lowering,  and,  had  they  given 
way  to  their  feelings,  the  festive  pageant  of  which  they 
reluctantly  made  a  part  would  have  had  a  mournful  and 
bloody  end." 

We  have  long  thought  that  this  splendid  scene,  on 
which  both  "  the  great  Unknown "  and  "  the  great 
Known  "  have  bestowed  their  inimitable  powers  of  de- 
scription, must  have  been  one  of  the  most  exciting  and 
joyous  spectacles  that  the  world  has  ever  witnessed ; 
and  this  declaration,  we  trust,  will  find  us  some  allow- 
ance with  the  reader  who  may  chance  to  judge  us  aus- 
terely for  thus  long  dwelling  upon  it. 

Having,  at  the  end  of  the  first  chapter,  safely 
"  lodged  the  restored  wanderer  in  the  palace  of  his  an- 
cestors," Mr.  Macaulay  opens  his  second  with  a  whole- 
some and  astute,  though  rather  uninteresting  disquisi- 
tion on  the  condition  of  the  English  Government  at  the 
era  of  the  Restoration.  He  condemns  the  inconsistency 
and  bad  policy  of  allowing  the  exiled  family  to  return 
without  exacting  new  and  reliable  securities  against 
mal-administration,  though  he  inclines  to  disagree  with 
the  majority  of  historians  in  representing  the  Restora- 
tion as  a  disastrous  event.  He  seems  to  think,  and 
justly,  no  doubt,  that  this  event,  all  unqualified  as  it 
was,  delivered  the  English  people  from  the  domination 
of  a  soldiery  that  equalled  the  Pretorian  bands  of  Rome 
in  capriciousness  and  ferocity.  The  crisis  which  fol- 
lowed the  deposition  of  the  weak  successor  of  Crom- 
well was,  indeed,  one  of  imminent  danger  to  the  integ- 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND.  273 

rity  of  the  ancient  and  venerated  constitutional  govern- 
ment of  England.  A  fanatical  and  intolerant  faction 
had  seized  the  reins,  and  supreme  power  was  on  the 
verge  of  passing  into  hands  which  would  soon  have  de- 
molished all  the  cherished  landmarks  of  constitutional 
liberty,  and  substituted  instead  a  rule  more  galling, 
more  repulsive,  and  far  more  precarious  than  that  even 
of  the  Rump  Parliament  which  had  been  indignantly 
kicked  out  of  doors  by  Cromwell.  Then  or  never, 
therefore,  was  the  time  for  all  lovers  of  rational  liberty 
to  harmonize  and  unite,  adjourning,  as  Mr.  Macaulay 
says,  all  factious  differences  until  a  more  convenient 
season.  Monarchy  was  found  to  be  far  preferable  to 
anarchy.  The  body  of  the  English  people  acted  with 
characteristic  judgment  and  good  sense;  dissenting 
politicians  and  religionists  united  for  the  common  weal, 
and  the  fruit  of  that  union  was  the  speedy  and  timely 
restoration  of  the  exiled  monarch. 

This  chapter  is  truly  a  history ;  differing  thus  from 
the  first,  which  is  more  in  the  style  of  a  review.  It  is 
a  succinct  and  neatly  arranged  narrative  of  facts,  inter- 
spersed with  less  of  that  digressive  and  continuous  es- 
saying which  we  find  in  the  preceding,  with  fewer  of 
the  romantic  and  entertaining  episodes  which  abound 
in  those  that  follow,  and  with  very  little  indeed  of  that 
proneness  to  tiresome  biographical  detail  which  dis- 
figures the  entire  work.  If  the  whole  had  been  writ- 
ten in  the  style  and  method  of  the  present  chapter,  the 
book  might  truly  have  been  less  brilliant,  less  enter- 
taining, and  less  rapidly  sought  after  by  the  multitude. 
But,  at  the  same  time,  there  can  be  little  doubt,  we 
think,  that  it  would  more  surely  have  outlived  this 
mere  ephemeral  and  superficial  popularity,  and  be 
finally  stored  away  with  such  authors  as  Hallam,  as 
Robertson,  and  as  Clarendon,  as  a  work  to  be  consulted 
12* 


274  MACAULAY'S  IIISTO&Y  OF  ENGLAND. 

hereafter,  more  for  solid  instruction  and  authority  than 
for  entertainment  merely. 

During  the  earlier  years  of  Charles  the  Second's 
reign,  England  may  be  said  to  have  been  in  a  state  of 
transmutation.  During  the  reign  of  the  Puritans  all 
kinds  of  public  and  private  amusements  were  sedu- 
lously and  harshly  discouraged.  The  whole  country 
was  a  vast  religious  camp-ground  for  the  operations  of 
drawling  snufflers  like  "  Tribulation  Wholesome,"  or 
"  Zeal-of-the-land  Busy,"  like  "  Praise  God  Barebones," 
or  "Boanerges  Stormheaven."  The  cottages  were 
filled  with  prototypes  of  "  douce  David  Deans," — the 
palaces  with  sycophantic  minions  of  Pym  and  Harrison. 
The  public  squares,  the  village-greens,  and  cross-roads 
were  nowhere  made  merry  by  Punch  and  Judy,  or 
May-day  festivities.  Drawling  sermons,  tortuous  pray- 
ers, and  nasal  psalmody  in  "  linked  sweetness  long 
drawn  out,"  had  supplanted  all  such  abominations  and 
sacrifices  to  the  beast  and  to  Baal.  The  nose  of  Icha- 
bod  Crane  would  have  been  rarely  valued  in  an  age 
which  produced  Ludowick  Muggleton,  and  other  fer- 
vent "  sons  of  grace,"  like  himself.  Such  was  the  so- 
cial condition  of  England  when  the  "  merry  monarch  " 
came  home  to  his  inheritance  with  "Wilmot  and  Villiers, 
and  their  accompanying  trains  of  bastards  and  prosti- 
tutes, and  pasquinaders  and  buffoons.  The^transition 
was  sudden — startling — bewildering ;  but,  in  one  sense 
it  was  complete.  It  was  like  exchanging  on  the  mo- 
ment, the  sombre  gloom  of  a  prayer-meeting  conducted 
by  saints  and  psalm-singers,  for  the  gorgeous  brilliancy 
and  entrancing  scenes  of  an  opera  saloon.  In  a  short 
time,  too  short,  it  seemed,  to  be  otherwise  than  a  pleas- 
ing vision  of  the  night,  the  churches  which  had  long 
been  closed  to  the  established  form  of  worship  were 
again  opened,  and  nave,  and  arch,  and  gallery,  whose 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  275 

echoes  had  long  been  silent,  once  more  resounded  with 
those  loved  and  melodious  strains  which  the  solemn 
organ  hymned  forth  to  celebrate  this  joyous  exit  of  in- 
tolerance and  persecution.  The  down-trodden  and 
proscribed  drama  was  speedily  resuscitated,  and  the 
play-houses  were  crowded  nightly  with  blazing  de- 
votees of  fashion  and  pleasure.  The  glittering  pa- 
geantry of  "Whitehall  dazzled  eyes  which  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  view  with  awe  the  grave  and 
stately  pomp  of  Cromwell's  court.  The  voluptuous 
charms  and  winning  graces  of  Eleanor  Gwynn  and 
Louise  de  Queroaulle,  shone  with  a  lustre  in  the  saloons 
and  drawing-rooms  that  called  up  lively  images  of  Ver- 
sailles and  Marly,  and  which  dimmed  the  vision  of  those 
who  could  scarcely  credit  that  these  were  the  successors 
of  Mrs.  Ireton  and  her  staid  sister.  Armed  troopers 
and  godly  expounders  of  the  Word  were  no  longer 
jostled  in  the  ante-rooms  of  the  presence-chamber. 
Ambassadors,  and  nobles  in  their  robes  of  State,  lords 
of  the  bed-chamber  in  their  flowing,  splendid  vest- 
ments, gaudily  attired  pages  in  waiting,  and  liveried 
lacqueys  had  now  taken  the  place  of  these ;  while,  in 
the  presence-chamber  itself,  was  seen  a  showy,  easy- 
mannered  and  accomplished  personage,  affording,  in 
every  respect,  a  singular  contrast  to  the  grave  deport- 
ment and  mean  appearance  of  his  grim  predecessor. 
In  fact,  it  was  every  where  evident  that  the  domination 
of  the  saints,  both  socially  and  politically,  was  for  ever 
done.  Nor  is  it  to  be  taken  for  granted,  that  all  even 
of  this  class  mourned  the  downfall  and  overthrow  of 
the  sombre  and  cheerless  reign.  Many  humble  cot- 
tagers and  peasants  who  had  conformed  to  the  pre- 
vailing habits  doubtless  for  peace  and  security,  rejoiced 
when  the  time  came  that  they  might  safely  indulge 
once  again  in  fond  Christmas  festivals,  And  week-day 


27G  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

convivialities ;  and  wild  country  squires,  and  rude 
jockeys  and  sportsmen,  hailed  the  return  of  that  lib- 
erty which  relieved  their  halls  of  crop-eared  lecturers 
and  exhorters,  and  allowed  them  again  to  bear-bait  and 
horse-race.  Some  who,  in  the  days  of  the  Protectorate, 
had  been  most  fervent  and  vociferous  in  amens  and 
ejaculations  during  worship,  afterwards  took  petty 
bribes  to  pimp  for  Buckingham,  and  introduce  favored 
rivals  of  the  king  to  the  boudoir  of  Barbara  Palmer. 
Indeed,  if  the  divine  standard  of  secret  thought  and 
forced  compliance  to  right  be  erected  by  which  to 
judge,  we  should  doubt  most  seriously  whether  the 
moral  condition  of  England  was  at  a  lower  ebb  after 
the  Restoration,  than  during  the  saintly  dominion  of 
Cromwell. 

We  were  pained,  however,  to  find  on  page  169  of 
this  chapter,  more  evidence  of  that  bitter  spirit  which 
influences  our  author  hi  his  opposition  to  the  Episcopal 
form  of  religion.  Not  satisfied  with  denouncing  the 
prevailing  immorality  of  libertinism,  both  in  the  politi- 
cal and  social  world,  Mr.  Macaulay  indirectly,  and  by 
insinuation,  seeks  to  lay  some  of  the  blame  on  the 
Church  of  England.  We  are  prepared  to  admit  that 
her  clergy  were  too  intent  on  religious  vengeance 
against  Puritans,  and  too  eager  in  extorting  amends 
for  the  pillage  and  deprivations  they  had  suffered  from 
their  stern  persecutors.  But  the  pure  morality  of  the 
liturgy,  the  whole  admirable  economy  of  the  Church, 
stand  forth  in  noble  vindication  of  slurs  which  a  his- 
torian, whose  duty  is  rather  to  instruct  than  to  prose- 
lyte, should  be  cautious  in  throwing  out.  Yet  our 
author  does  not  hesitate  to  use  the  language  of  the  fol- 
lowing sentences :  "  The  ribaldry  of  Etherege  and 
Wycherley  was,  hi  the  presence,  and  under  the  sanc- 
tion of  the  head  of  the  Church,  publicly  recited  by 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF  ENGLAND.  277 

female  lips  in  female  ears,  while  the  author  of  the  Pil- 
grim's Progress  languished  in  a  dungeon  for  the  crime 
of  proclaiming  the  Gospel  to  the  poor.  It  is  an  un- 
questionable, and  a  most  instructive  fact,  that  the  years 
during  which  the  political  power  of  the  Anglican  hie- 
rarchy was  in  the  zenith,  were  precisely  the  years  during 
which  national  virtue  was  at  the  lowest  ebb." — (p.  169, 
vol.  1.) 

It  is  impossible  to  mistake  the  intention  of  the  au- 
thor in  these  sentences,  or  to  avoid  the  inference  so 
unfavorable  and  unjust  to  the  integrity  of  the  Church 
of  England.  Does  Mr.  Macaulay  mean  to  say  that  the 
Church  was  scandalized  in  the  person  and  by  the  vices 
of  the  monarch,  or  that  she  is  responsible  for  the  same  ? 
And  yet  it  would  seem  that  such  are  the  points  of  al- 
lusion, inasmuch  as  "  the  head  of  the  Church  "  allowed 
and  countenanced  ribaldrous  indecencies.  Under  the 
statute  of  Henry  the  Eighth,  the  king  "  is  reputed  to 
be  the  only  supreme  head  in*  earth  of  the  Church  of 
England."  This  important  relation  of  the  king  to  the 
Church  is  attributable  to  the  connection  in  England 
between  Church  and  State,  and  is  of  a  legal  or  govern- 
mental character  exclusively.  In  this  capacity  he  has 
the  right  to  nominate  to  vacant  bishoprics,  to  convene, 
prorogue,  restrain,  and  dissolve  all  ecclesiastical  convo- 
cations. He  alone  receives  a  resignation  from  the  chief 
dignitary  of  the  Church,  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury ;  and  to  him  lies  the  ultimate  appeal  in  Chancery, 
from  the  sentence  of  every  ecclesiastical  judge.  This 
is  the  sum  and  substance  of  Blackstone's  interpretation 
of  this  connection  of  the  king,  as  the  supreme  head, 
with  the  Church.  But,  in  no  case  is  the  king  named 
as  guardian  of  the  spiritualities  of  the  Church.  "Dur- 
ing the  vacancy  of  any  see  in  his  province,"  says  the 
great  commentator,  in  speaking  of  the  Archbishop  of 


278  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

Canterbury,  "  he  is  guardian  of  the  spiritualities  there- 
of, as  the  king  is  of  the  temporalities."  Under  this 
view  of  the  subject,  we  think  Mr.  Macaulay's  readers 
have  the  right  to  complain  of  his  disingenuousness  in 
this  instance.  It  certainly  is  unfair  to  arraign  the 
Church  for  the  immoralities  of  a  king  who  is  only  her 
supreme  temporal  head  by  virtue  of  his  sovereign  pre- 
rogative, and  who  is  the  recipient,  and  never  the  dis- 
penser, of  her  spiritual  benefits.  The  expression,  alto- 
gether, is  less  worthy  of  an  impartial  historian  than  of 
a  disputatious  and  biassed  controversialist,  and  forms 
an  exception  to  the  general  tone  of  the  chapter. 

The  latter  part  of  this  first  sentence,  quoted  above, 
can  only  be  characterized,  we  are  bound  to  say,  as 
demagogical,  and  as  being  strangely  out  of  place  in  a 
grave  work  of  history.  Nor  is  this  all.  It  does  not 
strictly  convey  the  truth,  nor  does  it  leave  the  truth  to 
be  inferred.  At  the  time  of  Bunyan's  most  unjust  con- 
finement he  was  not  "the  author  of  the  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress," and  it  is  more  than  probable  that  had  he  never 
"  languished  in  a  dungeon,"  that  beautiful  and  treasured 
allegory  would  never  have  been  given  to  an  admiring 
world.  During  the  civil  war  Bunyan  had  borne  arms 
in  the  Parliament  army,  and  imbibed  all  their  austere 
notions  of  religious  duty  and  severity  of  life,  as  his 
after  career  proves.  Having  inflicted  upon  himself  a 
series  of  mental  tortures  which  would  have  terrified  a 
monk  or  a  friar,  he  turned  preacher,  arid,  in  open  defi- 
ance of  the  law,  began  to  proclaim  tenets  and  doctrines 
which  were  deemed  mischievous,  and  as  being  too 
nearly  allied  to  the  dangerous  inculcations  which  had 
led  to  the  fierce  persecutions  of  the  commonwealth,  to 
be  publicly  allowed ;  and  for  this  contumacy  and  oppo- 
sition to  Government,  and  not  "for  proclaiming  the 
Gospel  to  the  poor,"  was  John  Bunyan  thrown  into 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND.  270 

prison,  and  left  to  drag  out  a  miserable  confinement  of 
twelve  years,  narrowly  escaping  the  transportation  to 
which  he  had  been  condemned.  It  did  not  matter  in 
the  eye  of  the  law,  nor  do  we  presume  that  it  was  in- 
quired into  on  his  trial,  whether  his  hearers  were  men 
of  wealth,  or  poor  men ;  the  sentence,  in  either  case, 
would  have  been  the  same.  It  was  during  this  long 
and  painful  imprisonment  that  Bunyan  conceived  ideas 
of  authorship  ;  and  then  it  was,  in  the  depths  of  a  dun- 
geon, more  sombre  and  solitary  than  the  valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death  through  which  Christian  is  made  to 
pass  in  his  road  to  the  Delectable  Mountains,  that  he 
indited  that  wonderful  book  which  has  made  him  the 
delight  of  nurseries  and  firesides,  of  the  palace  and  of 
the  cottage,  and  which  has  given  immortality  to  the 
name  of  a  tinker's  son.  It  may  not  be  without  its  pur- 
pose, that  we  add  to  this  narration  the  fact  that  Bun- 
yan was,  at  last,  released  from  prison  through  the 
influence  and  intercession  of  one  of  that  "Anglican 
hierarchy,"  which  Mr.  Macaulay  so  sweepingly  dispar- 
ages in  the  page  before  us. 

We  are  unable  to  perceive  any  thing  else  than  the 
ebullition  of  strong  prejudice  in  the  "  unquestionable 
and  instructive  fact"  which  the  author  states  in  the 
last  sentence  quoted.  Apart  from  this,  we  cannot  dis- 
cern its  force  and  meaning.  We  cannot  discern  its 
pertinence  to  the  history  at  all.  But,  admitting  the 
fact,  we  deny  the  truth  of  the  inference  intended  to  be 
deduced.  The  fact  may  be  true,  and  yet  not  detract, 
in  the  least,  from  the  spiritual  integrity  or  moral  pre- 
tensions of  the  Church.  If  the  legal  re-establishment  of 
the  "  Anglican  hierarchy,"  after  years  of  persecution 
and  proscription,  is  to  be  termed  the  "  zenith  of  its  po- 
litical power,"  we  do  not  perceive  why  this  should  con- 
nect the  same  with  the  profligacy  of  the  age,  or  make 


280  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND. 

the  Church  responsible  for  the  "  low  ebb  of  national 
virtue,"  immediately  after  the  Restoration.  Political 
power  may  be  conferred  and  confirmed  in  a  day,  and 
from  the  date  of  the  enactment.  Spiritual  influence  is 
the  work  of  time,  of  labor,  and  of  unremitting  diligence. 
At  a  time  when  all  England  was  wildly  engaged  in 
celebrating  the  joyous  Carnival  which  had,  in  this  in- 
stance, succeeded  a  tortuous  and  long  Lent,  was  deliri- 
ous with  excitement,  and  mad  with  delight  at  escape 
from  Puritan  dominion,  it  might  not  have  been  safe  or 
politic — it  certainly  would  have  been  no  easy  task — for 
the  Church  stringently  to  have  interfered  so  soon  after 
her  own  restoration,  and  to  have  impressed  her  pure 
morality  and  admirable  precepts  on  a  giddy  population. 
We  have  very  great  veneration  for  the  ancient  and 
venerable  Church  of  England,  as  well  as  for  its  more 
faultless  branch  in  the  United  States,  and,  American 
though  we  are,  would  most  sincerely  lament  its  down- 
fall as  politically  connected  with  the  Government.  We 
believe  that  separation  would  prove  fatal ;  or,  in  other 
and  plainer  words,  that  the  destruction  of  the  one 
would  be  the  inevitable  destruction  of  the  other.' 
Much  of  England's  national  glory  and  all  of  England's 
happiness  is  attributable  to  her  admirable  and  cherished 
social  attachments  and  associations,  and  these  last  are 
closely  interwoven  with  her  Established  Church.  We 
can  appreciate  and  understand  our  author  when  he 
speaks  of  Cavaliers,  who,  indisposed  to  "  shape  their 
lives  according  to  her  precepts,  would  yet  fight  knee- 
deep  in  blood  for  her  cathedrals  and  palaces,  for  every 
line  of  her  rubric,  and  every  thread  of  her  vestments." 
She  is  intimately  connected  with  all  the  associations  of 
love,  with  all  the  tender  relations  of  marriage,  and  with 
all  the  fond  endearments  of  home  and  of  family.  She 
is  a  bond  of  union  between  hostile  factions  in  the  state. 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  281 

Even  civil  war  and  ruthless  proscription  could  not 
eradicate  her  influence,  or  destroy  the  strong  hold  she 
has  on  the  affections,  the  associations,  and  social  preju- 
dices of  a  majority  of  the  English  people.  It  is,  in- 
deed, "  an  unquestionable  and  a  most  instructive  fact," 
that  since  her  legal  existence  and  connection  with  the 
state,  no  hostile  foot  has  trodden  her  soil,  even  if  we 
make  an  exception  of  the  descent  of  William  the  Third, 
which  was  invited  and  connived  at  by  the  whole  nation, 
and  in  which  Englishmen  were  the  prime  movers.  We 
have  no  desire  to  see  these  strong  ties  severed,  or  this 
fortunate  union  of  Church  and  State  broken,  in  a  coun- 
try where  is  centred  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  two 
great  continents.  We  fully  believe  Mr.  Macaulay  when 
he  says,  "  that  a  civil  war  of  a  week  on  English  ground 
would  now  produce  disasters  which  would  be  felt  from 
the  Hoangho  to  the  Missouri,  and  of  which  the  traces 
would  be  discernible  at  the  distance  of  a  century." — 
(p.  32.)  And  it  is  for  these  reasons,  and  these  alone, 
that  we  regret  that  a  writer  of  this  author's  great  in- 
fluence and  celebrity  should  partially  convert  a  work 
of  history  to  the  purposes  of  depreciating  an  institution, 
and  disparaging  an  establishment,  in  the  most  vital  of 
its  claims  to  honor  and  reverence,  on  the  perpetuity  of 
which,  as  we  humbly  conceive,  depends  the  welfare  of 
the  English  Government,  and,  in  that,  the  peace  and 
prosperity  of  the  whole  world. 

But  the  same  people  who,  in  this  age  of  profligacy 
and  immorality,  were  entertained  with  the  lewd  pro- 
ductions of  Congreve  and  Wycherley,  were  also  suffi- 
ciently impressed  with  the  interests  of  civil  liberty  and 
private  rights  to  project  and  extort  the  great  act  of 
Habeas  Corpus,  the  day  of  the  sanction  of  which  our 
author  justly  denominates  "  a  great  era  in  English  his- 
tory." This  key  to  the  dormant  and  inactive  immuni- 


282  MACAULAY'S  HISTOKY  OF  ENGLAND. 

ties  contained  in  the  Great  Charter  was  reluctantly 
given  over  to  the  English  people  by  their  jealous  mon- 
arch. Our  author  tells  us  (page^232)  "that  the  king 
would  gladly  have  refused  his  assent  to  this  measure, 
but  he  was  about  to  appeal  from  his  Parliament  to  his 
people  on  the  question  of  the  succession,  and  he  could 
not  venture,  at  so  critical  a  moment,  to  reject  a  bill 
which  was  in  the  highest  degree  popular."  So  mate- 
rially, we  thus  perceive,  do  the  most  treasured  rights 
of  mankind  depend  on  the  caprice  or  policy  of  selfish 
rulers. 

In  this  chapter  we  are  treated  to  concise  and  spirited 
accounts  of  the  Popish  Plot,  the  Ryehouse  Plot,  the 
perjuries  of  Titus  Gates,  so  sickeningly  bloody  in  conse- 
quences, and  the  treasons  of  Monmouth,  Charles's  bas- 
tard son  by  Lucy  Walters,  who  was  married  by  his 
father  to  the  heiress  of  the  noble  Scotch  house  of  Buc- 
cleuch,  a  house  from  which  collaterally  descended,  hi 
long  after  years,  the  "mighty  wizard  of  the  North," 
the  great  "  Author  of  Waveiiey."  The  important  and 
romantic  interest  which  belongs  to  the  life  of  this  un- 
fortunate nobleman,  together  with  the  melancholy  fate 
which  overtook  him  in  the  reign  of  his  cruel  uncle,  au- 
thorize Mr.  Macaulay  in  dwelling  on  his  birth,  parent- 
age, and  early  court  life  and  military  achievements, 
which  he  does  in  a  manner  at  once  the  most  entertain- 
ing and  instructive.  We  are  next  introduced  succes- 
sively to  three  of  the  most  noted  political  characters 
which  figure  in  English  history.  These  are  the  younger 
Hyde,  Godolphin,  and  Lord  Halifax,  whose  name  has 
been  commemorated,  in  divers  ways,  as  well  in  these 
United  States  as  in  England.  Mr.  Macaulay  has  given 
a  description  of  this  distinguished  and  influential  states- 
man (the  most  so  of  his  time),  which,  while  it  raises  our 
previous  estimate  of  his  consummate  abilities,  rather  de- 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND.  283 

predates  our  opinion  of  the  consistency  and  inflexibility 
of  his  character  as  a  statesman  and  minister.  And  we 
might  extend  this  remark  to  most  of  those  great  men 
whose  portraits  make  up  the  general  contents  of  this 
volume  and  part  of  the  next.  It  is  a  characteristic  of 
Mr.  Macaulay,  as  a  historian  as  well  as  reviewer,  to  deal 
rather  with  the  dark  than  the  bright  side  of  human 
character.  He  goes  mostly  upon  the  levelling  princi- 
ple, and  before  he  has  done  with  a  character  of  history, 
the  reader  scarcely  knows  whether  to  admire  or  to  de- 
test ;  and  between  the  two  issues,  generally  leaves  both 
for  a  feeling  of  contempt.  We  shall  give  examples  of 
this  propensity  of  our  author  before  these  desultory  re- 
marks are  brought  to  a  conclusion. 

The  ludicrous  account  of  the  Dutch  war  excites  our 
contempt,  at  the  same  time  that  it  moves  us  to  laugh- 
ter; and  the  language  in  which  this  dark  story  of 
Charles's  reign  is  told,  shows  in  a  manner  the  most  em- 
phatic, our  author's  utter  detestation  of  "  that  feeble 
tyrant,"  trembling  in  his  luxurious  palace  at  the  sound 
of  De  Ruyter's  cannons.  "  Then  it  was,"  says  our  au- 
thor, "that  tardy  justice  was  done  to  the  memory  of 
Oliver.  Every  where  it  was  remembered  how,  when 
he  ruled,  all  foreign  powers  had  trembled  at  the  name 
of  England ;  how  the  States-General,  now  so  haughty, 
had  crouched  at  his  feet,  and  how,  when  it  was  known 
that  he  was  no  more,  Amsterdam  was  lighted  up  as  for 
a  great  deliverance,  and  children  ran  along  the  canals 
shouting  for  joy  that  the  devil  was  dead."  (p.  179.) 
And,  indeed,  at  no  period  of  her  history  had  the  chiv- 
alry of  England  been  at  an  ebb  so  low,  or  her  resources 
so  little  understood  or  at  command.  Buckingham  and 
Rochester  could  flirt  with  women,  and  venture  a  tilt 
at  swords  with  jealous  gallants  or  outraged  husbands 
and  fathers ;  but  they  did  not  relish  the  sterner  game 


284  ATACAULAT'S    HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND. 

of  meeting  armed  Dutchmen  in  battle.  The  few  gal- 
lant spirits  around  the  person  of  the  king  were  dis- 
gusted with  these  insolent  favorites,  and  shrank  from 
encouraging  a  contest  in  which  such  minions  and  para- 
sites might  exert  an  influence  at  once  to  be  deprecated 
and  dreaded.  The  position  of  England  in  the  Euro- 
pean system  during  this  entire  reign  was  far  from  being 
important,  if  it  was  not  even  despicable.  Indeed,  she 
was  almost  regarded  as  the  mere  vassal  of  France,  as 
her  monarch  certainly  was  the  stipendiary  of  France's 
king.  And  yet  it  was  during  this  same  feeble  reign, 
as  we  learn  further  on,  that  sprung  the  first  germ  "  of 
that  great  and  renowned  army,  which  has  in  the  pres- 
ent century  marched  triumphant  into  Madrid  and  Paris, 
into  Canton  and  Candahar."  To  this  army  England 
owes  all  of  her  glory  and  all  of  her  greatness.  Com- 
mercial houses  whose  operations  extend  from  the 
Thames  to  the  Ganges,  and  from  the  Exchange  of  Lon- 
don to  the  bazaars  of  Pekin  and  Benares,  would  never 
have  reached  beyond  the  European  or  American  Con- 
tinents, if  even  so  far,  if  the  military  spirit  and  strength 
of  the  nation  had  been  less  fostered  and  cultivated. 
Even  so  late  as  the  present  century,  England  might 
have  shared,  at  the  hands  of  the  French  Conqueror,  the 
fate  of  Prussia  and  of  Austria,  but  for  this  energetic 
and  formidable  development  of  her  martial  power.  It 
can  scarcely  be  doubted  that,  if  victory  had  declared 
for  Napoleon  on  the  field  of  Waterloo,  England  would 
have  been  crushed,  or,  at  least,  severely  and  vitally 
crippled.  And  yet  the  civil  liberties  of  England  are 
not  at  all  endangered  by  her  grand  military  system. 
Experience  has  abundantly  shown  that  the  arm  of  gov- 
ernment generally  deemed  the  most  dangerous  to  free 
constitutions  and  free  systems  elsewhere,  is  in  this 
country  skilfully  converted  into  an  efficient  and  power- 


HACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  285 

ful  arm  of  defence  to  both.  England  was  never  truly 
great  commercially  and  politically,  until  her  regular 
standing  army  was  regularly  established  and  appointed. 
Here,  in  our  judgment,  may  be  found  the  best  means 
of  solving  the  enigma  which  for  two  centuries  has  puz- 
zled mankind.  It  was  not  until  then  that  her  policy 
expanded  and  ripened,  not  until  then  that  her  enter- 
prising citizens  found  that  great  wealth  and  great  glory 
might  be  made  to  travel  hand  in  hand,  and  that  both 
must  be  found  elsewhere  than  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  their  own  island.  From  that  moment,  through  all 
diasters  and  reverses  consequent  on  long  and  bloody 
wars,  all  classes  of  society  began  to  improve,  and  her 
commerce  began  to  spread  and  to  prosper.  Since  then, 
it  is  true,  England  has  scarcely  seen  a  whole  year  of 
uninterrupted  peace  with  the  whole  world,  but,  in  the 
mean  time,  she  has  scarcely  experienced  even  the 
slightest  retrogression.  Trite  maxims  of  ethics  may 
do  to  inculcate  as  the  basis  of  all  proper  government 
in  some  countries ;  England  has  staked  her  destinies  on 
pursuing  the  more  practical  system  of  politics. 

The  strong  faith  of  Mr.  Macaulay  in  his  own  plan 
of  writing  history,  as  laid  down  in  his  essay  on  "  his- 
tory," and  given  to  the  world  years  since  through  the 
pages  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  is  abundantly  shown 
in  the  third  chapter  of  the  first  volume  now  before  us. 
The  whole  tenor  and  nature  evince  his  desire  to  come 
up  to  his  own  standard.  The  conformity  of  the  his- 
tory to  the  model  erected  in  the  essay,  in  point  of  long 
and  occasional  prosy  detail,  in  point  of  anecdote  and 
memoir,  in  point  of  biographical  narration,  and  in  point 
of  minute  statistical  inquiry,  is  admirable  and  eminently 
successful.  The  same  ideas  are  advanced  in  his  pleas- 
ing review  of  Mackintosh's  history  of  James  the  Sec- 
ond— "a  history  of  England" — he  there  says,  after 


286  MACAULAY'S    HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND. 

having  gone  through  his  imaginary  plan,  "  written  in 
this  manner,  would  be  the  most  fascinating  book  of  the 
age.  It  would  be  more  in  request  at  the  circulating 
libraries  than  the  last  novel." 

A  fleeting  shadow  of  this  coining  event  to  be  real- 
ized so  gratifyingly  in  his  own  case,  doubtless  prompted 
this  remark.  If  Mr.  Macaulay's  ambition  was  directed 
solely  to  attain  the  name  of  having  written  a  'history 
most  intensely  "  fascinating,"  and  which  would  outstrip 
competition  with  works  of  fiction  in  the  race  of  demand 
at  the  book  depots,  he  has  every  reason  to  be  satisfied, 
for  his  history  has  been  even  more  sought  after  than 
any  of  the  "  last  novels."  But  with  all  becoming  def- 
erence to  so  august  a  judgment,  we  still  think  that  his- 
tory should  be  written  mainly  with  a  view  to  some- 
thing else  than  these  "charms"  so  peculiarly  fancied 
by  Mr.  Macaulay.  With  all  his  staid  and  severe  nar- 
rative, and  "  majestic  etiquette  "  of  method  and  style, 
we  must  say  that  we  tire  less  soon  of  Henry  Hallam 
than  of  T.  Babington  Macaulay,  with  all  his  flowing 
redundancy  of  narrative,  his  rare  accomplishment  of 
style,  and  his  total  disregard  of  those  "  conventional 
decencies  "  of  historical  compilation  which  he  denounces 
as  "  absurd." 

The  chapter  under  consideration  may  be  useful  to 
the  masses  of  the  curious,  and  to  such  as  are  fond  of 
minute  statistical  research,  especially  in  England,  but 
we  must  hazard  the  confession  that  its  great  length,  its 
scrupulous,  undeviating  particularity,  even  in  the  nicest 
points,  and  its  barrenness  of  general  historical  interest, 
wearied  us  sadly  before  we  saw  its  end.  The  cause  of 
this  may  be,  and  we  are  bound  to  consider  was,  less  in 
the  distinguished  author's  want  of  taste,  than  in  our 
own  want  of  the  proper  appreciative  faculties,  but  so  it 
was,  any  way,  and  the  confession  must  pass  for  what  it 


MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OP  ENGLAND.  287 

is  worth.  We  surely  wished  that  the  author  had  sought 
less  to  avoid  an  error  which  he  so  unsparingly  condemns 
in  other  writers  when,  in  the  essay  on  history,  he  speaks 
of  the  most  characteristic  and  interesting  circumstances 
being  omitted  or  softened  down,  because  too  trivial  for 
the  majesty  of  history.  After  preparing  to  read  grave, 
condensed  history  as  that  "  philosophy  which  teaches 
by  example,"  we  cannot  find  much  of  interest  in  length- 
ened descriptions  of  the  size  of  great  towns  in  such  and 
such  a  century ;  of  how  milliners,  toy-men,  and  jewellers 
came  down  from  London,  and  opened  bazaars  under 
the  trees  which  surrounded  the  watering  towns  of 
Cheltenham,  of  Bath,  of  Brighton,  and  of  Tunbridge ; 
and  of  how  fiddlers  played,  and  morris  dancers  capri- 
oled "  over  the  elastic  turf  of  the  bowling  green  "  of 
fine  genial  evenings.  We  do  not  look  for  such  things 
in  a  work  which  has  just  absorbed  our  interest  in  re- 
counting the  more  solid  scenes  of  Cromwell's  career, 
and  of  grave  contests  between  monarchs  and  their  par- 
liaments. In  Miss  Pardoe's  Court  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth, and  in  Mrs.  Jameson's  Beauties  of  the  Court  of 
Charles  the  Second,  we  delight  to  read  of  these  pleas- 
ing interludes  and  romantic  indulgences ;  but,  after 
conducting  us  to  the  very  eve  of  that  stirring  epoch  on 
which  he  has  promised  his  readers  more  particularly  to 
dwell,  the  ardent  admirers  of  Mr.  Macaulay  (in  the  list 
of  which  we  regard  ourselves)  must  pardon  us  for  say- 
ing that  the  author  wearied  us  by  this  long  account  of 
what  we  conscientiously  look  on  as  "  too  trivial  for  the 
majesty  of  history."  The  polite  literature  of  this  bril- 
liant literary  age  does  not  long  arrest  the  attention  of 
Mr.  Macaulay.  A  few  pages  of  pithy,  forcible  review 
make  up  all  that  we  hear  of  it,  while  science  and  phy- 
sics are  alluded  to  only  with  distant  reverence.  Both 
are  themes  eminently  worthy  of  the  historian's  atten- 


288  MACAULAY'S   HISTOEY   OP  ENGLAND. 

tion,  but  our  author  had  treated  of  them  too  fully 
elsewhere  to  patiently  pause  and  go  minutely  over  old 
ground. 

The  change  in  the  character  and  spirit  of  literature 
at  this  period  is  mainly  to  be  ascribed  to  those  essential 
differences  which  marked  the  seventeenth  century  from 
the  preceding.  With  the  substitution  of  living  for  the 
dead  languages,  new  tastes  had  been  introduced  and 
were  grown  popular.  The  sixteenth  century  teemed 
with  scholars  of  profound  erudition ;  but,  in  the  latter 
part  of  the  seventeenth,  the  new  philosophy  began  to 
obtain.  As  the  great  writer  from  whom  we  derive 
these  reflections  remarks,  "  men  were  less  learned,  but 
more  able ; "  more  subtle  understanding  and  more  ex- 
quisite discernment  had  been  diffused  through  the  re- 
public of  letters.  At  the  era  of  the  Restoration  every 
species  of  taste  had  grown  more  sprightly,  and  from 
this  the  literature  of  that  period  took  tone  and  charac- 
ter. Literary  ambition  and  interest  were  then  mainly 
absorbed  in  the  drama,  and  to  this  department  the 
change  in  taste  had  also  penetrated.  In  France  the 
racy  and  brilliant  productions  of  Moliere  and  Regnard 
had  supplanted  those  of  the  grave  Corneille,  and  more 
exquisite  and  refined  Racine.  In  England,  as  was 
quite  natural  at  such  a  time,  the  austere  and  prescrip- 
tive antipathy  which  had  banished  all  sources  of  amuse- 
ment during  the  reign  of  the  saints,  broke  up  effectu- 
ally the  continuity  of  those  wrorks  of  elder  dramatists 
which  had  given  tone  before  to  sentiment,  and  made 
way,  after  the  Restoration,  for  a  lighter,  more  frivolous, 
and  more  meretricious  species  of  dramatic  entertain- 
ment. One  extreme  in  any  department  of  policy 
adopted  by  one  party,  is  sure  to  lead  to  the  adoption 
of  the  opposite  extreme  by  another  party,  in  retaliation, 
if  from  no  other  higher  motive.  Such  was  the  case  in 


MAC ATJL AY'S   HISTORY    OP   ENGLAND.  289 

this  instance,  and  it  was  under  this  new  order  of  things 
that  the  genius  of  a  Congreve,  a  Dryden,  an  Etherege, 
and  a  Wycherley,  rose  to  the  culminating  point,  and  at- 
tained to  such  enviable  ascendency.  To  the  more  en- 
tertaining and  lively  peculiarities  of  style  in  these  wri- 
ters over  the  old  school,  was  added  another  attraction 
which  lent  superior  lustre  and  fascination  to  dramatic 
amusements.  This  was  the  introduction  on  the  stage 
of  female  performers,  who  had  never  been  admitted 
under  the  ancient  regime.  To  this  bold  but  adroit  in- 
novation  on  established  custom,  the  theatre-loving 
world  is  indebted  for  its  long  subsequent  acquaintance 
with  the  brilliant  histrionic  talents  and  accomplishments 
of  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Miss  O'Neil.  In  view  of  the  many 
attractions  of  this  fruitful  theme,  and  of  our  admiration 
of  Mr.  Macaulay  as  a  writer,  we  have  sincerely  wished 
that  he  had  chosen  to  retrench  other  portions  of  the 
chapter  before  us,  and  dwelt  more  at  length  on  its  de- 
scription. The  few  pages,  however,  which  he  devotes 
to  its  consideration  are  captivating  beyond  all  parallel. 
We  only  regret  that  we  cannot  transcribe  largely  for 
the  benefit  of  readers  who  have  not  met  with  the  his- 
tory, if,  indeed,  there  be  such.  We  may  add  that  these 
few  pages  form  the  only  oasis  in  the  whole  barren  waste 
of  this  chapter,  in  point,  at  least,  of  true  historical  in- 
terest. 

To  quote,  then,  the  full  language  of  Junius — we 
now  "  turn  with  pleasure  from  this  barren  waste,  where 
no  verdure  quickens,"  and  where  no  interest  fastens, 
and  open  at  a  page  which  more  than  compensates  for 
all  of  dryness  that  may  have  been  encountered  in  the 
preceding  chapter,  and  which  kindles  at  once  to  the 
most  intense  and  vivid  pitch.  We  glide  lingeringly 
over  the  successive  paragraphs,  and  almost  sigh  when 
the  brilliant  though  melancholy  scene  is  closed.  It  will 
13 


% 


290  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OP  ENGLAND. 

be  understood,  of  course,  by  those  who  have  read  this 
book,  that  we  allude  to  the  author's  graphic  and  suc- 
cinct account  of  the  dying  hours  of  King  Charles  the 
Second.  All  the  personages  of  the  mournful  drama, 
all  the  scenes  and  their  singular  changes,  appear  at 
once  before  the  eye,  traced  and  drawn  out  with  re- 
markable clearness  and  power.  Barbara  and  Louise, 
and  Hortensia,  the  queenly  and  voluptuous  Duchess  of 
Mazarin,  niece  of  the  great  Ordinal,  were  all  there,  ra- 
diant with  robes  and  gems,  lustrous  in  all  the  glories 
of  matchless  personal  charms.  We  see  the  timid,  mild- 
mannered  queen,  abashed  before  the  superior  beauties 
of  the  king's  frail  sultanas,  venturing  nervously  to  the 
bedside  of  her  distressed  husband,  fearful,  even  in  that 
awful  extremity,  of  indifference  and  repulse.  There, 
too,  for  the  first  time  distinctly,  we  behold  the  grim 
lineaments  of  the  stern  James,  striving  with  bastards 
and  prostitutes  in  kindly  attentions  to  his  departing 
brother.  Then  comes  the  trials  and  struggles  of 
Charles  with  the  Protestant  clergymen — their  efforts 
to  console  and  absolve — his  strange  apathy  and  indiffer- 
ence. At  length  the  solemn  hour  approaches,  the  se- 
cret has  been  unravelled  by  the  devoted  Louise ;  and, 
by  that  secret  staircase  which  has  so  often  been  used 
by  Chiffinch  to  introduce  frail  damsels  to  his  master's 
bedchamber,  a  priest  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  is 
ushered  into  the  room.  Then  the  dying  monarch 
raises  himself  from  his  pillow,  receives  meekly  the  last 
solemn  sacrament,  and  preserving  to  the  last  that  "  ex- 
quisite urbanity  so  often  found  potent  to  charm  away 
the  resentments  of  a  justly  incensed  nation,"  thanks  his 
attendants  for  their  attentions  and  kindnesses,  apolo- 
gizes for  the  length  of  tune  he  had  been  dying,  and 
then  resigning  himself  to  the  stroke,  passes  away  with- 
out a  struggle. 


MAC AUL AY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND.  291 

This  is  the  mere  abstract  of  pages  which  might  fur- 
nish to  a  poet  ample  material  for  a  tragic  drama.  No 
scene  was  ever  more  splendidly  or  graphically  described ; 
no  living  moving  scene  was  ever  more  clearly  realized, 
or  ever  afforded  more  intense  and  absorbing  delight. 
Innovation,  bold  and  broad  though  it  be,  upon  the  con- 
ventional, established  form  of  writing  history,  to  intro- 
duce so  lengthy  and  minute  a  picture  of  a  monarch's 
death-bed,  we  yet  cannot  be  so  untasteful  as  to  find 
fault  with  that  which  has  afforded  us  such  exquisite  en- 
joyment. 

Immediately  on  the  heels  of  this  follows  the  account 
of  the  proclamation  of  James  the  Second  as  King,  and 
then  comes  that  hollow-hearted  speech  to  the  Council, 
so  profuse  in  satisfactory  promises  which  were  after- 
wards so  shamelessly  falsified.  From  this  point  the 
thread  of  legitimate  historical  narrative  is  taken  up  and 
pursued,  with  very  few  exceptions,  to  the  end  of  the 
volume,  with  unexceptionable  tenacity.  With  the 
odious  retaliatory  measures  of  religious  persecution 
which  disgraced  the  reign  of  this  cold-blooded  mon- 
arch ;  the  tortures  of  the  perjurer  Gates ;  the  cruel 
treatment  of  the  Scotch  Covenanters ;  the  contumelious 
secret  negotiations  with  France ;  and  the  assiduously 
pursued,  crafty,  mad-minded  effort  to  crush  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  in  order  to  restore  the  supremacy  of 
that  of  Rome,  we  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  in  follow- 
ing up  the  object  of  these  remarks.  The  chapter  con- 
tains much  of  biographical  delineation.  Sir  George 
Jeffreys  and  the  brutal  qualities  of  character  and  disposi- 
tion so  witheringly  attributed  to  him,  fill  the  reader  with 
sensations  of  unmitigated  disgust  and  loathing  ;  while 
John  Churchill,  the  future  illustrious  Duke  of  Marlbo- 
rough,  is  described  in  that  characteristic  manner  which, 
as  we  have  before  said,  leaves  us  in  doubt  whether  to 


292  MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

abhor  or  to  admire  a  man  who  filled  the  world  with  his 
fame.  The  account  of  his  early  life  really  inspires  con- 
tempt, and  causes  a  regretful  and  unpleasing  train  of 
emotions  when  we  connect  the  same  with  earlier  and 
more  grateful  impressions  of  the  victor  of  Blenheim  and 
Ramillies,  the  proud  conqueror  of  Villars  and  a  brilliant 
array  of  brother  marshals;  the  Captain-general  of  a 
coalition  which  embodied  such  commanders  as  Eugene 
and  Peterborough.  We  give  Mr.  Macaulay  full  credit 
for  candor  and  accuracy,  but  we  cannot  thank  him,  in 
view  of  these  agreeable  associations,  for  spoiling,  with  a 
dash  of  his  cutting  propensity,  so  interesting  and  ex- 
citing a  connection  of  historical  inquiry.  There  is 
something  immeasurably  disgusting — especially,  as  we 
should  think,  to  a  proud  Englishman — when  we  connect 
the  hero  of  such  mighty  battle-fields,  the  active  agent 
of  so  mighty  a  coalition,  with  the  mean,  low-minded, 
despicable,  and  petty  miser  and  sharper  of  the  history ; 
with  the  kept  minion  of  Barbara  Palmer,  Duchess  of 
Cleveland,  from  whose  adulterous  bed  he  was  once 
forced  ignominiously  to  fly  at  the  king's  sudden  ap- 
proach, or  with  the  cringing  recipient  of  a  heavy  purse 
of  guineas  from  the  haughty  paramour,  for  having  ac- 
complished, so  successfully,  a  feat  at  once  so  wither- 
ingly  ridiculous  and  full  of  hazard.  We  should  as  little 
feel  obliged  to  an  American  historian  who,  in  giving 
the  account  of  Washington's  early  manhood,  should 
choose  to  represent  the  Father  of  his  Country  in  the 
midst  of  his  slave  quarters,  engaged  in  flogging  a  re- 
fractory negro  tied  naked  to  the  stake.  Such  scenes  in 
connection  with  the  world's  venerated  heroes  should 
never  find  a  place  in  history,  which,  we  are  told,  is  phi- 
losophy teaching  by  example.  We  can  tolerate,  in  such 
a  memoir  as  that  of  the  Duchess  of  Abrantes,  the  story 
of  Napoleon,  as  "  Puss  in  boots,"  quarreling  with  pert 


MACAULAY'S   HISTOliY    OF   ENGLAND.  293 

young  girls,  and  of  his  playing,  while  Chief  Consul,  at 
childish  games  of  leap-frog  and  prisoner's  base,  during 
his  recreations  at  Malmaison.  But  how  would  such  a 
page  as  this  appear  in  Thiers'  History  of  the  Consulate 
and  Empire,  where  this  same  man  is  shown  to  us  as  the 
stern  arbiter  of  the  Duke  d'Enghein's  fate,  as  the  victor 
of  Marengo  and  Austerlitz,  and  as  the  haughty  Dictator 
of  prostrate  kingdoms  and  empires  ?  As  little  did  we 
expect  to  derive  from  the  volumes  before  us  impressions 
of  contempt  for  the  character  of  the  greatest  Comman- 
der ever  born  in  England,  and  the  loftiest  ornament  of 
her  history.  As  Mr.  Macaulay  is  the  first,  so  we  trust 
he  will  be  the  last  of  historians  who  seek  to  combine 
with  the  gravity  and  decorum  of  legitimate  history 
gossiping  memoir  and  scandalous  anecdote. 

We  come  now  to  that  portion  of  these  volumes 
which  has,  doubtless,  startled  all  American  readers. 
In  tracing  the  character  of  William  Penn,  the  venerated 
Patriarch  of  one  of  our  greatest  States,  our  author  has 
opened  a  chapter  of  his  life  which  we  confess  is  new  to 
us,  and,  we  imagine,  to  a  great  many  others  who  have 
preceded  and  may  succeed  us  in  reading  this  work.  It 
is  somewhat  to  be  wondered  at,  that  a  man  whose 
shining  virtues  and  spotless  benevolence  of  character 
have  won  for  him  heretofore  the  admiration  and  eulo- 
gium  of  historians,  and  whose  name  has  been  handed 
down  through  generations,  even,  of  wild,  untaught  sav- 
ages as  the  choicest  model  of  his  kind,  should  come  in 
for  so  immoderate  a  share  of  our  author's  keen  sarcasm 
and  pungent  exacerbation.  Even  Voltaire,  the  most 
critical  and  supercilious  of  modern  authors,  and  not 
famous  for  universal  leniency  and  tolerance,  yet  as- 
cribes to  this  good  man  qualities  of  heart  and  of  char- 
acter that  alone  would  have  made  him  immortal. — 
(Diet.  Phil.,  Art.  Quakers.)  Yet  Mr.  Macaulay  would 


294  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY    OF   ENGLAND. 

have  his  readers  to  believe  that  William  Perm  would 
have  been  delighted  to  take  air  passage  from  London 
to  Paris  to  have  witnessed  the  tortures  of  Damiens. 
He  would  have  them  believe  that  he  was  miserly  and 
extortionate,  cringing,  time-serving,  and  hard-hearted, 
to  an  extent  that  begets  abhorrence.  Penn,  again, 
belongs  to  that  class  of  persons  alluded  to  some  pages 
back,  whom  Mr.  Macaulay  first  exalts,  then  abases ; 
praises  in  one  breath,  in  the  next  damns ;  and  then 
leaves  his  readers  to  doubt  and  to  contemn.  This  pro- 
pensity reminds  us  of  an  anecdote,  familiar  in  Missis- 
sippi, of  a  certain  juror,  who  was  called  on  to  try  an 
issue  between  two  suitors  as  to  the  right  of  property  in 
a  calf.  The  plaintiff's  lawyer  states  his  case,  and  our 
juror  at  once  conceives  a  verdict  in  his  favor.  The 
defendant's  lawyer  next  explains  the  nature  of  his  claim, 
and  our  juror  yields  his  first  impressions.  Finally,  the 
Judge  sums  up  the  testimony,  and  expounds  the  law, 
and,  in  this  charge,  so  mixes  up  the  points  in  dispute, 
that  our  juror  finds  himself  completely  riddled,  and 
protests  that  he  cannot  say  who  does  own  the  calf. 
But — asking  the  pardon  of  our  author's  admirers  for 
this  liberty — we  must  introduce  one  or  two  extracts 
from  the  work  to  convey  these  impressions  the  more 
properly,  and  to  exemplify  the  justice  of  these  remarks. 
After  devoting  nearly  an  entire  column  to  the  praises 
of  William  Penn,  our  author  (p.  471,  vol.  l)  says:  "his 
enthusiasm  for  one  great  principle  sometimes  impelled 
him  to  violate  other  great  principles  which  he  ought  to 
have  held  sacred.  Nor  was  his  integrity  altogether 
proof  against  the  temptations  to  which  it  was  exposed, 
in  that  splendid  and  polite,  but  deeply  corrupted  soci- 
ety, with  which  he  now  mingled.  The  whole  Court 
was  in  a  ferment  with  intrigues  of  gallantry,  and  in- 
trigues of  ambition.  The  integrity  of  Penn  had  stood 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND. 

firm  against  obloquy  and  persecutions ;  but  now,  at- 
tacked by  royal  smiles,  by  female  blandishments,  by 
the  insinuating  eloquence  and  delicate  flattery  of  vete- 
ran diplomatists  and  courtiers,  his  resolution  began  to 
give  way.  It  would  be  well  if  he  had  been  guilty  of 
nothing  worse  than  such  compliances  with  the  fashions 
of  the  world.  Unhappily  it  cannot  be  concealed  that 
he  bore  a  chief  part  in  some  transactions,  condemned, 
not  merely  by  the  rigid  code  of  the  society  to  which 
he  belonged,  but  by  the  general  sense  of  all  honest 
men." 

Now,  these  involve  a  charge  of  the  deepest  corrup- 
tion, sensuality,  and  hypocrisy.  The  courtier  Penn, 
intriguing  with  frail,  pretty  women,  seduced  from  hon- 
esty by  flattery,  easily  cajoled  and  easily  bribed,  and 
the  grave,  benevolent-hearted,  scrupulous  patriarch 
Penn,  treating  with,  and  winning  the  confidence  of 
rude  sons  of  the  wilderness,  ruling  a  colony  by  the  law 
of  justice  and  morality  alone,  and  then  spurning  to 
obtain  royal  favor  by  abjuring  the  customs  of  his  soci- 
ety, are  two  dissimilar  characters  which  we  cannot 
reconcile.  The  one  is  despicable,  the  other  venerable. 
We  do  not  mean  at  all  to  impeach  the  authority  of 
Mr.  Macaulay,  but  we  must  see  the  proofs  before  we 
can  be  brought  to  believe  in  their  identity  of  person. 
In  this  we  are  fortified  and  sustained  both  by  the  gen- 
eral voice  of  history  and  the  solemn  denial  of  Mr.  Penn 
himself,  when  charged  as  guilty  by  his  enemies  of  the 
court.  The  mere  fact  that  such  charges  were  made  in 
Penn's  lifetime  cannot  be  taken  as  proof  of  their  truth. 
Any  man  who  occupies  an  envied  position  is  h'able  to 
be  vitally  impugned  by  his  contemporaries.  The 
charge  of  "  bargain  and  intrigue  "  to  obtain  the  office 
of  Secretary  of  State  under  John  Quincy  Adams,  has 
been  levelled  by  unscrupulous  enemies  against  Henry 


296  MACAULAY'S   HISTOKY    OF   ENGLAND. 

Clay  for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century ;  yet  no  de- 
cent historian  would  venture  to  allude  to  it.  otherwise 
than  in  the  stern  language  of  reprobation.  Even  Wal- 
ter Scott  suffered  in  public  opinion  when  it  was  found 
that,  in  his  life  of  Napoleon,  he  had  condescended  to 
dignify  with  historical  notice  petty  scandals  against  his 
illustrious  subject.  We  will  hazard  the  assertion  that 
proofs  just  as  strong  going  to  show  that  Henry  Clay 
was  basely  bribed,  that  Napoleon  caused  Pichegru  and 
Captain  Wright  to  be  strangled  in  prison,  and  that  he 
whispered  proposals  of  incest  in  the  ear  of  the  Princess 
Borghese,  (both  of  which  are  alluded  to  by  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  though  qualified  with  the  expression  of  his  dis- 
belief in  their  truth,)  can  be  brought  up  by  active, 
low-minded  enemies,  as  any  that  can  be  arrayed  to 
show  that  Penn  intrigued  with  the  court  beauties  of 
James  the  Second,  and  was  bribed  through  his  "  vani- 
ty," as  Mr.  Macaulay  intimates,  to  abet  foul  corruptions 
repulsive  to  "the  general  sense  of  all  honest  men." 
Yet  no  one  ever  candidly  believed  the  first,  every  body 
rejects  the  second ;  and  we  may  safely  add  that  no  his- 
torian has  ever  before  taken  such  pains  to  prove  up  the 
third. 

During  the  reign  of  terror  and  bloody  assizes  under 
James  the  Second,  a  company  of  young  girls  who  had 
borne  a  banner  in  honor  of  Monmouth's  entry  into 
Taunton,  were  suddenly  arraigned  and  imprisoned,  at 
the  instigation  of  the  queen's  maids  of  honor,  in  order 
to  wring  heavy  sums  in  their  ransom  from  the  pockets 
of  wealthy  parents  and  friends.  The  maids  made  sev- 
eral attempts  to  engage  gentlemen  to  undertake  this 
task  of  unworthy  extortion,  but  met  with  indignant 
rebuffs  and  scornful  answers.  At  length  they  applied 
to  William  Penn.  "  Penn,"  says  Mr.  Macaulay,  "  ac- 
cepted the  commission ; "  and  then  the  author  adds, 


MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF  ENGLAND.  297 

significantly,  "  yet  it  should  seem  that  a  little  of  the 
pertinacious  scrupulosity  which  he  had  often  shown 
about  taking  off  his  hat  would  not  have  been  alto- 
gether out  of  place  on  this  occasion." — (p.  607.)  The 
sarcastic  tone  of  this  sentence  cannot  be  misunderstood, 
and  betrays  sufficient  evidence  of  biassed  judgment  to 
induce  us  to  take  Mr.  Macaulay's  character  of  Penn 
with  many  qualifications  and  allowances.  The  invidi- 
ous— at  least  unnecessary — allusion,  in  another  place, 
to  the  fact  that  Penn  rode  post  haste  from  Tyburn, 
where  he  had  just  seen  a  man  kick  his  life  away  under 
the  gibbet,  in  order  that  he  might  not  miss  the  show 
of  seeing  a  woman  burned  in  London,  strengthens  our 
impressions  in  this  particular.  Now  we  infer  from  the 
general  character  of  Penn,  that  a  high  and  noble  hu- 
manity of  sentiment  prompted  him  to  both  these  acts 
— so  liable  to  be  used  as  the  means  of  blackening  his 
fame.  Never  before  having  met  with  either  in  any 
defined  form,  (never  with  the  last,)  we  cannot  venture 
to  contradict  or  defend  further.  Mr.  Macaulay  him- 
self thinks  that  this  was  the  "probable"  motive  of 
Penn  on  both  these  occasions.  If  we  thought  for  a 
moment  that  such  was  not  certain,  our  veneration  for 
the  name  and  memory  of  Penn  would  be  speedily  turn- 
ed into  a  feeling  of  unmitigated  abhorrence  and  detes- 
tation. 

The  first  volume  of  this  history  closes  amidst  scenes 
of  melancholy  and  blood,  appalling  and  sickening  to  an 
extreme  that  inspires  disrelish  for  perusal.  The  awful 
scene  of  Monmouth's  execution;  the  bloody  assizes; 
the  hanging,  drawing,  quartering,  and  transportation 
of  the  hapless  victims  of  revenge:  rotting  skulls  grin- 
ning at  every  cross-road;  the  noisome  atmosphere; 
harrowing  scenes  of  domestic  affliction  and  suffering — 
all  told  in  the  peculiar  graphic  and  forcible  style  of  this 
13* 


298  MACAULAY'S   HISTORY   OF   ENGLAND. 

author,  make  up  a  total  of  disgusting  facts  unparalleled 
in  the  world's  history,  and  which  haunt  one's  reflections 
for  days  after  reading  of  them. 

We  shall  not  extend  these  remarks  to  the  second 
volume,  at  this  time  ;  our  only  remaining  task  is,  there- 
fore, to  condense  and  sum  up  our  impressions  of  the 
general  tone  and  character  of  the  first. 

Upon  the  whole,  then,  we  are  inclined  to  regard 
this  work  more  as  a  terse,  well-digested,  and  brilliant 
essay  on  the  history  of  England,  than  what  it  purports 
to  be — a  history  proper  of  England.  It  is  altogether  a 
new  visitor  to  the  circles  of  the  literary  world,  both  as 
to  manner  and  method  of  telling  history,  and,  in  this 
sense,  has  attracted,  as  was  naturally  to  be  expected, 
unparalleled  admiration.  But  like  all  preternaturally 
bright  bodies  in  another  sphere  of  attraction,  it  par- 
takes more  of  the  meteoric  than  of  the  fixed  or  intran- 
sitive nature,  and,  we  are  inclined  to  believe,  will  be 
pronounced  in  the  end  rather  splendid  miscellany  than 
unadulterated  history.  But  it  has  served  its  purpose. 
Mr.  Macaulay  has  allured  many  to  a  branch  of  reading 
which  has  generally  been  considered  forbidding  and 
uninviting,  and  his  brilliant,  captivating  style  has  in- 
duced and  held  many  to  a  task  who  might  have  been 
repelled  by  the  austere  gravity  of  Hallam,  or  the  pithy 
sententiousness  and  severe  condensation  of  Hume.  He 
has  smothered  the  harsh  frown  and  wrinkled  brow  of 
English  history,  and  wreathed  her  face  with  winning 
smiles,  and  in  this  has  achieved  a  pleasing  revolution  in 
the  taste  and  character  of  the  literary  world.  "Whilst, 
therefore,  he  may  not  inspire  the  distant,  reverential 
awe  associated  with  Hallam  or  Robertson,  his  pages 
will  always  be  opened  with  that  agreeable  anticipation 
of  healthy  and  rational  entertainment  which  possesses  a 
reader  of  Kenilworth  or  Ivanhoe.  Nor  do  we  consider 


MACAULAY'S  HISTOKY  OF  ENGLAND.  299 

such  comparison  with  these  last  wonderful  productions 
at  all  disparaging  to  the  claims  of  this  history.  Sir 
Walter  Scott  has,  it  is  true,  created  many  of  his  grand- 
est scenes,  and  clothed  them  with  a  garb  and  face  of 
startling  reality.  Mr.  Macaulay  has  thrown  around 
real  and  authenticated  scenes  of  history  all  the  dazzling 
attractions  of  fanciful  conception.  This  peculiarity 
constitutes  the  principal  charm  of  his  history — a  pecu- 
liarity and  novelty  of  feature  that  must  ever  secure  to 
it,  independent  of  glaring  innovations  and  bold  episod- 
ings,  a  welcome  place  in  all  private  libraries.  It  bears 
no  resemblance  to  the  historical  works  of  the  authors 
we  have  named.  To  compare  Mr.  Macaulay's  history 
to  that  of  any  of  these,  would  be  like  comparing  a 
luminous  mezzotint,  or  rich,  variegated  enamel,  to  the 
more  grand,  but  at  the  same  time  more  subdued,  paint- 
ings of  Rubens  or  Corregio. 

When  it  was  made  known  to  the  world  that  Da- 
guerre  had  published  his  celebrated  discovery — that  a 
process  had  been  invented  by  means  of  which  lifelike 
representations  of  person  and  of  landscape  could  be 
taken  by  the  agency  of  light  only,  reflected  through 
the  camera  obscura,  that  the  images  thus  produced 
were  so  clearly  expressed  that  silk  might  be  distin- 
guished from  satin,  and  marble  from  plaster,  every  body 
predicted  that  the  easel  and  the  brush  would  be  abol- 
ished, and  that  the  art  of  painting  would  be  effectually 
superseded  by  this  more  speedy  and  wonderful  method. 
And  for  a  time  it  seemed  that  this  prediction  would  be 
verified.  Painters  looked  sad,  and  began  to  throw 
aside  canvas  and  pallet,  and  to  purchase  cameras  and 
copper  plates.  Curiosity  ran  wild.  Old  pictures  and 
family  portraits  became  objects  of  jest  and  ridicule,  and 
for  a  moment  the  splendid  galleries  of  Florence  and  of 
Rome  were  forgotten  and  neglected.  But  it  was  only 


300  MACAULAY'S   HISTOEY  OF  ENGLAND. 

for  a  moment  that  the  daguerreian  process  held  this  su- 
premacy. While  all  yet  admire  the  genius  of  the  dis- 
coverer and  the  strange  and  novel  splendors  of  the  dis- 
covery, while  the  magic  operation  still  continues  to 
dazzle  and  to  puzzle  beholders,  it  is  yet  evident  that  it 
is  placed  subordinate  to  the  grander  and  more  enduring 
achievements  of  the  pencil.  In  making  the  application 
of  this  apologue  (if  we  may  thus  speak),  we  mean  only 
to  express  our  convictions  that  historical  works  of  this 
class  and  description,  brilliant  though  they  may  be,  and 
sparklingly  as  they  may  be  welcomed,  will  be  consigned 
to  a,  like  subordinate  station  when  compared  with  the 
labors  of  the  elder  and  greater  race  of  historians.  We 
do  not  even  mean  to  say  it  is  our  belief  that  Mr.  Ma- 
caulay  will  meet  this  fate.  There  are  many  reasons  to 
believe  that  he  will  not.  His  vast  genius,  his  profound 
learning,  his  literary  accomplishments,  the  fame  with 
which  he  has  filled  the  two  hemispheres  as  a  miscella- 
neous writer  and  reviewer,  added  to  the  fact  that  he  is 
the  author  as  well  as  leader  of  this  style  of  writing  his- 
tory, may,  and  most  probably  will,  effectually  preserve 
him  from  the  fate  of  less  gifted  or  less  fortunate  imita- 
tors and  successors. 

But  it  is  time  these  remarks  should  be  brought  to  a 
close.  We  shall  reserve  much  that  we  had  intended  to 
say,  in  this  connection,  for  some  future  continuation  of 
a  task  which  was  undertaken  less  to  criticise,  than  to 
endeavor  to  show  that  even  the  greatest  writers,  when 
moving  in  a  sphere  of  authorship  different  from  that  in 
which  we  have  been  most  accustomed  and  delighted  to 
hold  converse  with  them,  are  very  apt  sometimes  to 
disappoint  high  expectations. 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.* 

THIS  book  is  certainly  a  literary  curiosity — not  be- 
cause of  its  superior  merits  or  rare  composition,  but  be- 
cause of  its  singular  popularity  and  success,  when  we 
compare  these  with  its  absolute  unworthiness.  Mr. 
Willis  himself  has  long  been  eminent  among  a  certain 
class  of  American  literateurs,  and  his  writings  have 
generally  been  puffed  into  a  sicklied  notice  through 
their  influence ;  added  to  the  efforts  of  a  whole  legion 
of  venal  journalists,  whose  inferior  talents,  wholly  dis- 
proportioned  to  their  ambition,  find  always  a  most 
agreeable  task  in  coming  to  the  rescue  of  poems  ema- 
nating from  their  cherished  model,  and  whose  life  and 
occupation  consist  in  playing  an  eternal  and  endless 
game  of  "  Tommy,  come  tickle  me ;  "  that  thus,  by  a 
method  of  amiable  collusion,  they  may  hoist  their  con- 
federates and  themselves  into  an  ephemeral  notoriety. 

Now,  as  we,  in  common  with  all  true  friends  to 
genuine  American  literature,  have  a  thorough  contempt 
for  this  species  of  writers  and  literary  representatives — 
though  these  are  not  the  most  objectionable  class — and 
sincerely  regard  them  as  obstructions  to  all  healthful  de- 

*  The  Poems,  Sacred,  Passionate,  and  Humorous,  of  Nathaniel 
Parker  Willis.  Complete  edition,  revised  and  enlarged.  New  York  : 
Clark,  Austin  &  Co.  1850. 


302  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

velopment  of  a  pure  national  literature,  we  have  a  mind 
to  express  our  opinions  quite  freely  and  candidly  in 
connection  with  Mr.  Willis's  book.  But  we  desire  it 
to  be  distinctly  understood  that  no  personal  antipathies, 
as  concerns  our  author,  prompt  us  to  the  task.  We 
have  no  acquaintance,  personally,  with  Mr.  Willis.  We 
never  met  him  or  saw  him,  to  our  knowledge,  and  we 
know  nothing  unfavorable  to  his  character  or  reputa- 
tion ;  for  if  we  did,  we  should  be  very  far  from  entering 
into  a  review  of  his  poems,  which,  we  fear,  may  justly 
be  considered  harsh  and  condemnatory.  If  we  had  any 
personal  spleen  to  vent,  we  should  seek  a  more  manly 
course  of  satisfaction ;  while  we  should  regard  a  goose- 
quill  ebullition  of  wrath  as  contemptible  and  ridiculous 
— indeed,  dishonorable.  We  are  thus  particular,  be- 
cause we  have  an  especial  object  in  view  while  we  go 
through  with  our  task  of  criticism,  which  object  mainly 
is  to  expose  the  unworthiness  of  Mr.  Willis  and  Ms  co- 
terie to  represent  American  literature,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  to  unfold  some  of  the  causes  which  make  us,  in  a 
literary  sense,  the  slaves  of  English  writers,  and  the 
mere  tools  of  Anglo-American  publishers.  We  shall 
address  our  efforts,  in  an  especial  manner,  to  this  latter 
class,  for  we  believe  that  they  are  justly  answerable  for 
the  ascendency  of  that  herd  of  venal  pretenders  to 
literary  excellence,  whose  daily  flip-flap  from  job  presses 
not  only  discourage  meritorious  and  independent  com- 
petitors, but  have  created  such  disgust  for  home  litera- 
ture as  to  divert  the  interest  of  our  truly  tasteful  and 
literary  people  across  the  waters,  and  to  sicken  them 
at  the  sight  of  an  American  work.  Their  selfish  and 
unpatriotic  conduct  is  manifested  daily.  Not  content 
with  flooding  our  country  with  mutilated  and  spurious 
English  books,  we  are  favored  by  these  enterprising 
gentlemen  with  reprints  of  foreign  magazines  and  re- 


WILLIS'S    POEMS.  303 

views,  to  the  serious  and  ruinous  disparagement  of  our 
American  works  of  that  description.  They  go  even 
farther.  Their  bloated  fortunes  are  sparsely  lavished 
on  English  and  French  writers,  who,  unprotected 
against  American  book  pirates,  and  debarred  from  all 
pecuniary  profits  in  this  country,  are  willing  to  write 
for  pennies,  rather  than  lose  all.  A  monthly  maga- 
zine may  thus  be  gotten  up  by  influential  and  wealthy 
houses,  which  will  overmatch  American  productions,  as 
well  in  quantity  as  quality  of  matter.  American  wri- 
ters and  journalists  are  generally  too  poor  to  write  and 
work  for  nothing,  which  they  must  do  if  they  would 
enter  into  competition  with  Anglo-American  writers 
and  Anglo-American  publishers. .  The  absence  of  an  in- 
ternational copyright  law  cuts  off  British  writers  in 
America,  and,  vice  versa,  cuts  off  American  writers 
from  all  profits  in  Great  Britain.  Hence,  a  large  pub- 
lishing house,  like  that  of  the  Harpers,  wealthy,  influen- 
tial, and  anti-American  in  feeling  as  concerns  literary 
development  and  encouragement,  may  easily  swell  their 
enormous  gains  by  pampering  British  writers  who  are 
legally  debarred  from  copyright  in  this  country,  and 
who,  poorly  paid  at  home,  pleasantly  condescend  to 
pick  up  pennies  from  foreign  bidders ;  while  an  Ameri- 
can-hearted publisher,  devoted  to  the  culture  of  home 
literature,  and  forced  to  pay  high  for  good  writers,  is 
crowded  out  of  the  market. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  perceive  the  drift  and  intent  of 
these  prefatory  discursive  remarks.  We  mean  to  be 
understood  as  endeavoring  to  demonstrate,  that  we, 
Americans,  owe  all  our  literary  discouragements  to 
Anglo-American  publishers.  An  American  journal  or 
review,  high-toned  and  able  in  character,  is  necessarily 
very  expensive,  because  its  contributors  must,  in  gen- 
eral, be  well  paid.  But  an  Anglo-American  publisher, 


304  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

who  refuses  high-toned  American  productions,  which 
are  protected  by  law,  and  casts  his  bait  for  British 
writers  who  have  no  copyright  privileges  in  our  midst, 
is  at  no  expense  save  that  of  his  paper  and  type.  The 
last  can  afford  to  undersell  the  first,  and,  of  course,  ob- 
tains precedence  with  the  public.  American  readers 
are  far  more  familiar  with  British  novelists,  poets,  es- 
sayists, and  historians,  than  with  those  of  the  United 
States.  Thus  is  America  made  the  slave  of  England, 
literarily,  not  for  want  of  equal  talent  on  the  part  of 
her  writers,  but  from  the  selfish  policy  of  large  and 
influential  publishers.  An  American  journalist  is  un- 
derbid by  literary  poachers  on  British  disabilities.  The 
American  writer  offers  his  work  to  an  Anglo-American 
publisher,  only  to  be  told  that  a  British  work  of  equal 
merit  can  be  thrown  before  the  public  free  of  all  orig- 
inal cost.  Hence  American  literature  is  almost  in  the 
dust;  and  when  Irving,  Cooper,  Prescott,  and  some 
few  other  master  souls  shall  have  passed  away,  it  is 
greatly  to  be  feared  that  genuine  American  literature 
will  be  without  a  worthy  representative. 

Such  are  some  of  the  hapless  causes  from  which  has 
sprung  the  sickly  ascendency  of  such  poetry  as  that  of 
Mr.  Willis,  and  his  numerous  confreres.  America  is 
without  a  poet,  or  a  poetical  prestige.  Here,  in  our 
opinion,  is  the  reason.  We  have  no  Byron,  no  Moore, 
no  Walter  Scott.  The  minds,  if  any  such  have  ever 
been  born  in  our  midst,  which  felt  a  consciousness,  per- 
haps, of  inspiration  akin  to  theirs,  have  shrunk  from 
competition  with  mere  handicraft  pretenders,  or  else 
have  been  deterred  by  repulsive  and  avaricious  pub- 
lishers. But  we  have  Mr.  Willis,  and,  as  the  Coryphaeus 
of  his  venal  band,  it  is  with  Mr.  Willis  we  intend  to 
deal.  He  has  habitually  assumed  to  himself,  for  a  long 
series  of  years,  a  species  of  supremacy  in  the  second- 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  305 

rate  literary  circle,  which  makes  him  pre-eminently  fit, 
and  proper,  and  legitimate  game  for  our  present  under- 
taking. The  lofty  and  self-important  tone  which  dis- 
tinguishes, even  yet,  his  weekly  editorial  bulletins,  im- 
presses, and  is  doubtless  designed  to  impress,  all  readers 
with  an  idea  of  his  judicial  super  eminence  in  literary 
affairs.  Nor  have  we  the  least  fault  to  find  with  this. 
On  the  contrary,  we  award  to  Mr.  Willis  a  high  and 
enviable  degree  of  moral  courage  in  playing  his  game ; 
for  it  must  be  confessed,  in  view  of  his  slender  materi- 
als, that  he  plays  his  game  with  remarkable  address. 
It  is  not  every  day  that  we  find  a  man  who  has  the 
courage  to  put  forth  and  father  such  a  production  as 
Mr.  Willis's  "  Sacred  Poems,"  and  yet  complacently 
and  serenely  supererogate  weekly  patronage  to  all 
other  American  poets  and  writers. 

Nobody  will  doubt,  we  imagine,  but  that  Mr.  Wil- 
lis has  acquired  his  poetical  notoriety  by  means  of  a 
systematic  and  well-directed  course  of  magazine  and 
newspaper  puffing;  for  no  sane  person,  we  are  per- 
suaded, can  read  his  poetry,  and  trace  the  same  to  any 
merits  he  possesses  in  that  line.  We  know  that  puffers 
can  do  much.  We  know  that  authors,  when  placed  in 
certain  situations,  can  do  more  still,  to  emblazon  their 
works,  and  snap  public  opinion,  or  rather  public  noto- 
riety. But  we  confess  that,  to  our  judgment,  neither 
puffers  per  se,  nor  puffed  authors  par  excellence,  ever  ac- 
complished a  more  dexterous  or  unaccountable  achieve- 
ment than  when  they  succeeded  in  puffing  Mr.  N. 
Parker  Willis  into  existence  as  a  poet.  It  is  no  incon- 
siderable source  of  amusement,  we  may  remark  en  pas- 
sant, to  sit  apart  and  watch  the  trickery  of  now-a-day 
authors,  especially  poetical  authors,  to  create  for  them- 
selves a  salable  notoriety.  The  method  is  complete, 
and  may  lay  claim  to  quite  a  venerable  antiquity.  The 


306  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

proprietor  of  a  magazine  projects  a  creditable  scheme 
to  disseminate  agreeable  light  reading,  mingling  with 
the  same  fashion  plates,  fancy  engravings,  and  much 
learned  talk  about  tournures  and  trousseaux.  He  en- 
lists one  or  two  really  talented  and  able  writers,  and  a 
dozen  or  two  second  and  third-rate  writers.  The  first 
require  too  high  pay  to  fill  up  an  entire  number  with 
their  writings.  Therefore,  the  last  are  called  in  to  fill 
up  the  intervals ;  serving  the  first  pretty  much  in  the 
same  capacity  as  common  actors,  in  a  stock  company, 
serve  the  "star"  actor.  By-and-by  the  best  of  the 
commoners  is  selected  for  a  puff  offering ;  and  then  the 
clangor  of  editorial  clarions  begins :  "  Wonderful  genius 
developed,"  "  unrivalled  debut,"  "  Tom  Moore  surpass- 
ed," "  Walter  Scott  equalled,"  "  Byron  matched,"  and 
many  other  rare  and  rich  specimens  of  genuine  blarney 
are  blazoned  on  the  covers,  and  new  contributions  an- 
nounced from  the  pen  of  some  "  newly-discovered,  fast- 
rising,  and  world-eclipsing  poet."  The  whole  pack  of 
venal  pennymen  open  on  the  scent,  and  weeks  and 
months  are  consumed  in  crying  up  a  literary  synonym 
of  "  Jarley's  wax  works,'*  or  Barnum's  "  Chinese  lady." 
In  the  mean  while,  the  readers  of  the  magazine  are  all 
agape  with  astonishment  at  their  protracted  obtuseness 
as  regards  the  merits  of  this  amazing  child  of  letters. 
They  have  whiled  away  years  of  intimacy  with  the 
author's  writings,  and  yet  were  required  to  be  waked 
up  to  his  accomplishments.  The  din  of  trumpets  is 
systematically  prolonged ;  their  ears  are  so  continu- 
ously racketed  with  the  noise  of  his  achievements,  that, 
at  length,  they  read  every  thing  bearing  such  a  re- 
doubtable name,  and  tacitly  consent  to  have  him  en- 
rolled as  a  standard  author. 

This  account  will  not,  we  incline  to  think,  be  con- 
sidered too  overwrought  or  exaggeratory  to  those  who 


WILLIS'S    POEMS.  307 

are  familiar  with  the  reading  of  the  various  literary 
newspapers  and  magazines  of  our  northern  cities.  At 
all  events,  we  think  we  may  safely  say  that  the  "  Sa- 
cred Poems  "  of  our  author  are  mainly  indebted  to  this 
species  of  collusive  heraldry  for  their  singular  notoriety. 
And  to  increase  the  chances  of  their  being  shelved  as 
standard  specimens  of  American  poetry,  Mr.  Willis  has 
thought  proper,  we  suppose,  to  bring  them  out  at  this 
time,  in  connection  with  other  poems,  prefaced  with  a 
serene-tempered,  somewhat  self-gratulatory  introduc- 
tion, and  quite  a  pretty  picture  of  himself  in  one  of  his 
most  sentimental  attitudes. 

Whatever  may  be  our  opinions,  we  are,  however, 
constrained  to  criticise  Mr.  Willis  as  a  poet.  Maga- 
zine publishers  and  newspaper  editors  chronicle  his 
comings  and  his  goings,  his  sayings  and  his  writings, 
his  adventures  and  his  onslaughts,  as  those  of  "the 
poet."  He  himself  tells  us  that  he  "  has  no  hesitation 
in  acknowledging  the  pedestal  on  which  public  favor 
has  placed  him."  We  are  forced,  therefore,  to  regard 
such  high  authority ;  and  as  he  looms  forth  to  the  pub- 
lic eye,  self-sculptured  and  architraved,  we  should  be 
wanting  in  respect  to  "  public  favor,"  not  to  recognize 
his  claims  to  the  name  of  poet. 

We  expect  to  confine  this  article  mainly  to  a  notice 
of  the  "  Sacred  Poems,"  as  these,  we  believe,  are  gen- 
erally supposed  to  form  the  principal  cornice  of  that 
"pedestal"  to  which  our  author  refers.  We  must 
begin  by  saying  that  they  are,  to  our  judgment,  very 
tame  and  unsuccessful  transpositions  of  beautiful  Scrip- 
tural incidents.  That  which  is  intended  for  poetical 
amplification  and  illumining,  pales  and  flickers  beside 
the  unpretending  but  impressive  diction  of  the  sacred 
writers.  Indeed,  in  the  progress  of  their  perusal,  we 
meet  oftentimes,  as  we  shall  presently  demonstrate, 


308  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

with  really  pitiful  and  sickly  attempts  to  retouch  and 
embellish  what  has  been  far  better  told  hi  the  original, 
thousands  of  years  ago,  when  languages  had  scarcely 
assumed  definite  form.  They  abound  with  expressions 
which  are  not  only  shamefully  unpoetical,  but  are  un- 
euphonious,  ungraceful,  and  improper ;  while  they  are 
most  untastefully  repeated,  as  applied  to  the  different 
characters,  and  for  lack  of  originality  of  thought,  in 
nearly  every  poem  of  the  series. 

We  cite,  as  an  instance  of  this  striking  want  of  true 
taste  in  the  choice  of  expression,  the  following  lines 
from  the  poem  of  "  Jairus's  Daughter : " 

"  The  old  man  sunk 
Upon  his  knees,  and  in  the  drapery 
Of  the  rich  curtains  buried  up  his  face" 

Also  the  following  from  the  poem  of  "  The  Leper : " 

"  And  in  the  folds 
Of  the  coarse  sackcloth  shrouding  up  his  face" 

Again,  in  the  "  Sacrifice  of  Abraham,"  we  are  fa- 
vored with  the  same  expression  as  the  first,  as  fol- 
lows: 

"  And  Abraham  on  Moriah  bow'd  himself, 
And  buried  up  his  face"  &c. 

In  the  poem  on  "  Absalom,"  David  is  reduced  to 
the  same  grievous  necessity  as  Jairus  and  Abraham, 
but  the  expression  is  slightly  varied  for  the  better, 
thus: 

"  He  covered  up  his  face,  and  bow'd  himself,"  &c. 

"  We  next  find  "  Hagar  "  seeking  like  consolation 
as  her  predecessors  in  the  volume : 

"  And,  shrouding  up  her  face,  she  went  away,"  &c. 

The  last  example  to  which  we  shall  refer  in  corrob- 
oration  of  our  ah1  eged  fault  against  "  the  poet,"  is  found 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  309 


in  the  poem  of  "  Lazarus  and  Mary,"  where  the  latter, 
seemingly  in  a  sort  of  mesmeric  communication  with 
Hagar,  David  &  Co.,  resorts  to  the  very  same  expedient 
while  grieving : 

"  She  covered  up  Tier  face,  and  turn'd  again 
To  wait  within  for  Jesus." 

Now,  we  contend  that  the  term  "  buried  up,"  or 
"  shrouded  up,"  is  not  only  an  unpoetical  and  ungrace- 
ful, but  a  manifestly  incorrect  term,  besides  being  harsh 
and  discordant ;  not  to  mention  the  fact  that  the  ex- 
pression is  used  six  or  eight  times  in  short,  succeeding 
poems,  comprising  in  all  only  some  fifty-eight  pages. 
We  had  better  say  bury  down  than  "  bury  up?  for  the 
first  is  more  likely;  but  the  phrase,  either  way,  is 
clearly  unchaste — especially  when,  seeking  to  glide 
softly  through  the  melodious  flow  of  blank  verse,  we 
chance  suddenly  to  stumble  against  its  roughness.  In- 
deed, we  must  say  that  Mr.  Willis  pays  quite  a  poor 
compliment  to  the  taste  of  his  readers  when  he  supposes 
that  they  will  charitably  endure  such  continuous  and 
ugly  repetitions,  in  the  absence  of  all  excuse  for  such, 
unless  he  shall  plead,  in  extenuation,  a  want  of  origi- 
nality, or  an  over-desire  to  obtain  those  "  present  gains  " 
which,  in  his  preface,  he  very  frankly  tells  us,  were 
more  his  object  than  was  any  "  design  upon  the  future." 
We  might,  probably,  account  for  the  uncouthness  of 
expression  more  easily.  In  truth,  we  feel  greatly  in- 
clined to  attribute  the  same  less  to  a  want  of  proper 
discriminative  powers,  than  to  the  feeling  of  arrogant 
confidence  which  easily  prompts  to  immoderate  self-in- 
dulgence and  unallowable  liberties,  those  persons  who 
are  under  the  influence  of  that  intoxication  which  is  en- 
gendered by  incautious  admiration  of  themselves. 

But  more  than  all,  we  must  seriously  object  to  the 


310  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

justness  of  that  popular  award  which  seems  to  have 
greeted  these  poems,  because  of  their  unpleasing,  spirit- 
less sameness  and  resemblance.  They  are  alike  in 
thought,  in  character,  in  description,  and  in  language, 
nearly ;  and  if  the  names  were  not  different,  and  the 
scenes  slightly  shifted,  we  might  unconsciously  mistake 
Jairus  for  David,  and  Abraham  for  Jephthah ;  as  also 
the  Shunamite  mother  for  the  widow  of  Nain,  Hagar 
for  Rizpah,  and  Absalom  on  his  bier,  for  Lazarus  as  he 
lay  shrouded  for  the  grave.  There  is  a  grating  continu- 
ity of  all  the  essential  features  and  groundwork  which 
form  each  separate  poem  throughout  the  entire  series ; 
and,  even  if  they  possessed  intrinsic  merits,  all  interest 
in  them  would  be  marred  and  spoiled  by  so  inexcusable 
a  blemish.  We  turn  over  leaf  after  leaf  without  finding 
that  relief  which  is  so  necessary  when  engaged  in  read- 
ing poetry;  that  variety  of  thought  and  description 
which  constitutes  the  secret  of  true  poetical  composi- 
tion, and  without  which,  as  they  well  know,  the  best 
of  poets  become  soon  insupportably  tiresome.  The  ge- 
nius of  Spenser  and  of  Ariosto  is  universally  admired 
and  admitted ;  yet  no  one  wades  through  the  Faerie 
Queene  or  the  Orlando  Furioso,  without  wearying  sadly 
under  the  weighty  and  monotonous  versification.  We 
do  not,  by  any  means,  intend  to  compare  Mr.  Willis  or 
his  "  Sacred  Poems "  to  these  fathers  of  poetry  and 
their  hallowed  chefs  d'ceuvre  ;  we  mean  only  to  say  that 
he  has  fallen  into  their  only  error — and  that,  not  be- 
cause he  intended  to  do  so  on  the  ground  of  allowable 
precedent,  but  because,  although  poet-born  as  he  seems 
to  think,  he  has  failed  to  learn  one  of  the  very  first  ele- 
ments of  the  ars  poetica.  Our  private  opinion  is,  to  say 
truth,  that  these  awkward  and  uncomely  transpositions 
of  Scripture  were  squirmed  forth  by  their  author  just 
as  the  blank  pages  of  Mr.  Godey's  "  Book  "  required, 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  311 

or  as  Mr.  Godey's  purse  could  afford,  monthly  offerings 
to  the  pile  of  those  "  present  gains."  Their  arrange- 
ment and  composition  do  not  indicate  or  foreshadow 
that  slumbering  genius  which,  after  long  years  have 
passed,  can  now  inspire  its  possessor  with  such  exultant 
confidence  as  to  herald  the  publication  of  his  early-day 
poems  with  an  assurance  to  his  readers  that  the  "  ripe- 
ness of  poetical  feeling  and  perception  are  all  before 
him."  The  series  forms  a  perfect  family,  in  which  the 
resemblance  between  the  various  members  is  so  great 
as  to  strike  the  most  casual  observer.  Each  succeeding 
poem  is  but  a  transfiguration  of  its  predecessor  ;  and 
the  shade  of  difference  is  so  slight  as  to  be  almost  im- 
perceptible, excepting,  as  we  have  said,  as  to  locality 
and  name. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  his  book  on  Demonology  and 
Witchcraft,  if  we  may  pursue  farther  this  course  of  re- 
mark, tells  us  of  a  young  London  gentleman  who,  from 
extreme  nervous  disarrangement,  was  seriously  annoyed 
by  a  troup  of  phantoms  which  appeared  to  his  vision 
nightly  at  a  certain  hour.  He  found  it  necessary  to 
call  the  advice  of  a  medical  gentleman.  After  examin- 
ing the  state  of  his  patient,  the  physician  advised  a  re- 
moval to  his  country  seat.  The  change  of  scene  effected 
wonders.  The  patient  thanked  his  physician,  deter- 
mined on  settling  permanently  in  the  country,  broke 
up  his  house  in  town,  and  brought  his  furniture  to  the 
villa.  But  this,  alas !  proved  to  be  a  fatal  move.  The 
sight  of  the  familiar  furniture  revived  the  unhealthy  as- 
sociations of  his  malady,  and  he  had  scarcely  retired  to 
bed  before  the  whole  company  of  dancing  spectres  re- 
appeared with  an  expression  of  countenance  that  seemed 
to  say  to  him,  "  Here  we  all  are  again !  Here  we  all 
are  again ! " 

Now  this  anecdote  we  take  to  be  aptly  illustrative 


312  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

of  the  character  and  style  of  Mr.  Willis's  series  of  Sa- 
cred Poems.  We  read  the  first  and  second,  and  then, 
for  a  rest,  lay  the  book  aside.  In  a  short  time  we  take 
the  notion  to  resume.  We  naturally  look  for  some 
novelty  and  refreshment.  But,  lo !  the  third  is  but  the 
first  and  second,  dignified  with  a  change  only  of  inci- 
dent and  name ;  the  same  thoughts,  the  same  concep- 
tions, the  same  descriptive  outlines,  except,  perhaps, 
that  one  transpires  at  day-dawn,  another  at  noontide, 
and  the  third  at  twilight  or  late  evening.  With  the 
precision  of  a  musical  box,  which  is  wound  up  at  inter- 
vals that  it  may  play  over  the  same  tunes  again  and 
again,  we  find  Mr.  Willis,  in  nearly  every  successive 
poem  of  his  sacred  series,  true  to  his  familiar  portrait- 
ures of  a  distressed  father,  an  anguished  and  doting 
mother,  an  interesting  corpse,  and  a  ministering  spirit ; 
varied  only  as  the  scenes  are  made  severally  to  occur 
by  sunlight,  or  starlight,  or  moonlight. 

But  there  are,  in  these  poems,  other  and  more  seri- 
ous blemishes  than  those  of  repetition  and  sameness, 
merely.  The  diction  is  oftentimes  imperfect,  and  some- 
times quite  obscure.  For  instance,  in  the  opening  lines 
of  the  poem  of  Jairus's  Daughter,  we  have  the  follow- 
ing lines : 

"  The  shadow  of  a  leaf  lay  on  her  lips, 
And  as  it  stirred  with  the  awakening  wind,"  <fec, 

Here  is  a  palpable  impropriety.  The  pronoun  it  must 
refer  to  the  noun  nominative,  or  the  sentence  is  without 
meaning  ;  and  if  it  be  intended  thus,  the  idea  is  non- 
sensical, for  we  are  at  a  loss  how  to  imagine  that  "  the 
awakening  wind"  can  stir  the  shadow  of  a  leaf;  and 
yet  shadow  is  the  relative  of  it,  as  leaf  is  in  the  objec- 
tive case.  We  have  heard  of  "  airy  tongues  that  sylla- 
ble men's  names,"  where  the  scene  supposed  is  mingled 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  313 

with  something  unnatural  or  superstitious ;  but,  in  a 
plain,  matter-of-fact  case,  taken,  too,  from  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, we  have  never  before  observed  where  shadow  is 
so  complacently  made  substance.  Nor  are  we  at  all 
satisfied,  as  a  reader  of  poetry,  or  of  what  is  meant  for 
poetry,  with  the  figure  of  speech  to  which  Mr.  "Willis 
here  resorts  to  bring  forth  his  idea.  There  is  something 
strained  in  the  idea  of  casting  the  shadow  of  a  leaf  on  a 
dying  girl's  lips.  Her  bosom,  her  cheek,  her  forehead 
— any  of  the  three  could  more  properly  have  been  used 
than  lips.  The  whole  sentence  is  mawkish  and  ungain- 
ly, even  though  it  had  been  properly  constructed. 

A  few  lines  further,  speaking  of  Jairus  as  he  "  buried 
up  his  face  "  in  the  drapery  of  curtains,  he  thus  goes  on : 
"And  when  the  twilight  fell,  the  silken  folds 
Stirred  with  his  prayer,  but  the  slight  hand  he  held 
Had  ceased  its  pressure ;  and  he  could  not  hear, 
In  the  dead,  utter  silence,  that  a  breath 
Came  through  *her  nostrils  ;  and  her  temples  gave 
To  his  nice  touch  no  pulse ;  and  at  her  mouth 
He  held  the  lightest  curl  that  on  her  neck 
Lay  with  a  mocking  beauty,"  &c. 

Here  we  have  again  a  most  obscure  and  incorrect 
phrase,  insomuch  that  one  cannot  easily  imagine  how 
silent  prayer  can  possibly  stir  "  silken  folds."  There 
is,  moreover,  an  ungraceful  abundance  of  anatomical 
delineation ;  for  we  have,  in  the  few  lines  quoted,  little 
else  than  a  description,  in  regular  succession,  of  hands, 
nostrils,  temples,  mouth,  neck,  &c.,  besides  the  rather 
odious  picture  of  a  delicate,  dying  young  lady  breathing 
through  her  nose. 

The  seven  or  eight  opening  lines  of  the  next  para- 
graph will  do  something  better,  and  possess  a  moiety 
of  prettiness : 

"  It  was  night ; 

And  softly,  o'er  the  sea  of  Galilee, 
14 


814  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

Danced  the  breeze-ridden  ripples  to  the  shore, 
Tipp'd  with  the  silver  sparkles  of  the  moon, 
The  breaking  waves  played  low  upon  the  beach 
Their  constant  music,  but  the  air  beside 
Was  still  as  starlight,  and  the  Saviour's  voice, 
In  its  rich  cadences  unearthly  sweet, 
Seem'd  like  some  just-born  harmony  in  the  air, 
Waked  by  the  power  of  wisdom." 

But,  after  much  tame  and  badly-conceived  descrip- 
tion, we  find  in  the  closing  paragraph  a  repetition  of 
the  author's  anatomical  peculiarities,  in  a  long  and  ful- 
some jeremiad  about  "transparent  hands"  and  "taper- 
ing nails ; "  "  nostrils  spiritually  thin  "  and  "  breathing 
curve ; "  "  tinted  skin  "  and  "  azure  veins ; "  "  jet  lash  " 
and  "  pencilled  brow ;"  "  hair  unbound,"  "  small,  round 
ears,"  "polish'd  neck,"  and  "snowy  fingers."  Each 
noun  is  regularly  mated  with  an  adjective,  two,  three, 
or  more,  as  the  length  of  the  line  may  admit,  or  as  the 
author's  invention  may  quicken.  In  the  midst  of  this 
poetasting  dissection  the  first  of  the  series  closes,  ab- 
ruptly. 

The  second  is  taken  from  the  Scripture  account  of 
a  person  whom  Christ  cured  of  the  leprosy  as  he  was 
passing  on  to  Capernaum.  The  incident  is  narrated  by 
St.  Matthew  in  the  eighth  chapter,  second,  third,  and 
fourth  verses  of  his  Gospel,  thus  : 

2.  "  And  behold,  there  came  a  leper  aud  worshipped  him,  saying, 
Lord,  if  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  make  me  clean. 

3.  "  And  Jesus  put  forth  his  hand,  and  touched  him,  saying,   I 
will :  bo  thou  clean.     And  immediately  his  leprosy  was  cleansed. 

4.  "  And  Jesus  saith  unto  him,  See  thou  tell  no  man ;  but  go  thy 
way,  show  thyself  to  the  priest,  and  offer  the  gift  that  Moses  com- 
manded, for  a  testimony  unto  them." 

The  manner  and  style  of  this  pithy  narration  are 
exceedingly  chaste  and  impressive ;  with  a  melody  and 
simplicity  of  diction,  at  the  same  time,  that  fall  agreea- 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  315 

bly  on  the  ear,  and  are  evincive  of  much  closer  alliance 
with  true  metrical  harmony,  than  is  the  pompous  and 
elaborated  poem  of  which  we  are  speaking.  But  Mr. 
Willis  has  chosen  to  misconceive  the  spirit,  and  to  mis- 
interpret the  facts  of  the  incident — both,  too,  to  the 
disparagement  of  the  gospel  version.  He  sets  out  with 
a  warning  flourish  of  trumpets,  and  an  array  of  notes 
of  exclamation  truly  appalling,  and  which  are  wholly 
at  war  with  the  mild  and  unpretending  features  of  the 
real  incident.  The  Bible  scene  is  eminently  character- 
istic of  all  that  was  lovely  in  the  Saviour's  earthly  min- 
istrations and  associations.  The  portrayal  made  by 
Mr.  Willis  in  his  poem  is  unstriking,  and  very  badly 
conceived  in  every  respect ;  while  its  execution  is  so 
flat  and  commonplace  as  to  excite  a  feeling  of  amaze- 
ment that  the  author  should  ever  have  been  reckoned, 
or  should  presume  to  reckon  himself,  a  poet.  There  is, 
besides,  an  ungraceful  perversion  of  one  of  the  not  least 
impressive  facts,  which  robs  the  story  of  its  principal 
charm.  Jesus,  after  healing  the  suppliant  leper,  bids 
him  "  tell  no  man,"  but  to  go  and  "  show  himself  to 
the  priest,"  and  offer  the  gift  as  commanded  by  Moses. 
Mr.  Willis,  on  the  other  hand,  and  with  most  unac- 
countable want  of  artistic  taste,  chooses  to  send  his 
leper  to  the  priest  in  the  first  instance,  and  that  not  to 
offer  "  the  gift "  as  "  testimony,"  but  to  solicit  a  cure, 
or  rather  to  hear  an  official  affirmation  of  the  "  doom  " 
which  he  was  already  expiating.  Now  we  can  imagine 
something  peculiarly  interesting,  as  well  as  suggestive, 
in  connection  with  Matthew's  story, — of  how  the  poor 
crushed  victim  of  a  loathsome  disease  might  fall  at  the 
Saviour's  feet,  and  implore  that  compassion  which  he 
had  heard  was  never  solicited  in  vain ;  and,  being 
healed,  should  then  go  to  the  soul-hardened  priest,  and 
show  himself,  as  directed,  with  the  gift  in  hand.  But 


316  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

we  are  unable  to  perceive  the  beauty  or  force  of  Mr. 
Willis's  tortuous  and  unnatural  version,  or  of  the  wiz- 
ard-like malediction  which  he  puts  into  the  priest's 
mouth.  We  seriously  object,  also,  to  the  application 
and  correctness  of  the  following  simile,  when,  speaking 
of  Jesus,  he  says  : 

"  Yet  in  his  mien 

Command  sat  throned  serene,  and  if  He  smiled, 
A  kingly  condescension  graced  his  lips, 
The  lion  would  have  crouch? d  to  in  his  lair." 

A  look  of  command  is  always  associated  with  pride, 
or  with  haughtiness  of  demeanor,  or  with  some  physi- 
ognomical development  indicative  of  superiority.  The 
Saviour  is  not  thus  represented ;  but  is  always  humble, 
meek,  unpretending,  and  studiedly  unostentatious ; 
while  command,  in  the  sense  intended  above,  is  never 
evidenced  in  look  or  word.  As  for  "  kingly  condescen- 
sion," in  connection  with  the  character  of  this  person- 
age, the  idea  is  as  absurd  as  it  is  misapplied ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  we  have  always  loved  to  imagine  "  the 
lion  "  rather  as  following  and  fawning  upon  so  benign 
a  being  as  Jesus — caressingly  familiarized  as  in  the  par- 
adisal  time — than  "  crouching  in  his  lair  "  to  an  awe- 
inspiring  and  commanding  master.  We  never  before 
met  with  so  gross  and  reckless  an  onslaught  on  the 
mildness  and  meekness  of  the  Saviour. 

The  third  poem  of  the  series  opens  thus : 

"  'Twas  daybreak,  and  the  fingers  of  the  dawn 
Drew  the  night's  curtain,  and  touched  silently 
The  eyelids  of  the  king." 

We  take  this  to  be,  on  the  whole,  the  worst  con- 
ceived and  most  unstriking  similitude  in  the  world. 
We  might  very  well  go  further,  and  pronounce  it  to 
be  the  least  allowable,  and  certainly  the  least  apt.  We 


WILLIS'S    POEMS.  317 

have  often  known  primer  publishers  to  represent  the 
sun  with  a  great  red  rubicund  face ;  but  we  have  here- 
tofore failed  to  find  an  instance  where  any  writer, 
whether  of  the  primer  or  poetical  order,  has  gone  so 
far  as  to  picture  the  dawn  wtih  fingers.  Mr.  Willis's 
conceptions  must  be  far  ahead  of  any  that  his  readers 
can  claim,  to  imagine  the  remotest  reality  or  plausible- 
ness  of  this  unique  metaphor.  How  much  of  the  hori- 
zon, we  beg  to  ask,  will  Mr.  Willis  invest  with  his  im- 
aginary fingers  ?  We  must  suppose  that  he  had  chalk- 
ed out  something  definite  and  shapeful  hi  this  respect, 
for  we  can  scarcely  think  that  he  refers  to,  or  means  to 
finger  the  whole  line  of  "  the  dawn."  Nor  do  we  at 
all  sanction  the  idea  of  "the  dawn's  fingers  touching 
silently  the  eyelids  of  the  king."  It  is  something  outre 
and  unimaginable,  and  evinces  a  woful  lack  of  that  fer- 
tility of  thought  which  is  the  most  essential  element  of 
a  genuine  poetical  endowment. 

But  a  few  lines  further  on,  we  meet  with  another 
figure  of  speech  which,  if  less  allowable,  is  at  least 
equally  novel  and  original.  It  occurs  in  the  last  of 
the  lines  employed  to  describe  David's  wont  of  a  morn- 
ing to 

"  Play  with  his  lov'd  son  by  the  fountain's  lip." 

It  would  be,  we  incline  to  think,  quite  a  difficult  task 
to  go  about  trying  to  picture  such  a  member  to  such  a 
thing.  Mr.  Willis  is  either  very  dull  about  finding 
similitudes,  or  very  reckless,  or  else  very  deficient  in 
proper  discrimination  as  concerns  figurative  acumen. 
We  know  that  the  Mississippi  river  is  said  to  possess  a 
mouth,  in  geographical  parlance ;  but  a  poet,  unless  he 
possessed  Mr.  Willis's  boldness,  would  scarcely  venture 
to  clothe  such  mouth  with  lips. 

On  the  next  page  our  author  quite  coolly  employs 


318  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

other  fingers  than  those  of  the  dawn  to  perform  their 
morning  service — when,  describing  another  daylight 
scene  he  says : 

"  and  they  who  drew 

The  curtains  to  let  in  the  welcome  light." 

This  is  genuine  flesH  and  blood — no  undefinable  and 
unimaginable  ethereality ;  and  looks  more  like  the  plain 
common  sense  of  every-day  life.  The  repetition,  how- 
ever, indicates  a  scrupulous  nicety  and  distinctness  of 
description,  which  is  not  usual  to  novelists  or  poets. 
Mr.  Willis  has  a  most  inveterate  penchant  to  designate 
the  very  time  of  night  his  characters  go  to  bed,  the 
precise  hour  at  which  they  get  up,  how  they  washed, 
how  they  prayed,  and  never  fails  to  tell  his  readers 
that  the  bed  curtains  were  punctually  drawn  aside  by 
something  or  somebody ;  while  the  alternations  of  time 
which  mark  each  poem  vivify  the  illustration  of  name 
which  attaches  to  Bulwer's  novel  of  "  Night  and  Morn- 
ing." 

Passing  over  the  "  Sacrifice  of  Abraham,"  we  come 
next  to  an  expression  in  the  "Shunamite,"  which 
strikes  us  with  its  absolute  childishness  : 

"  She  drew  refreshing  water,  and  with  thoughts 
Of  God's  sweet  goodness  stirring  at  her  heart,"  &c. 

Nor  have  we  the  least  patience  with  such  flippant  taste 
as  we  find  evidenced  in  the  closing  lines  of  the  poem, 
where  our  poet  does  not  allow  his  readers  even  a 
breathing  spell — but  favors  them  only  with  a  starry 
interval — betwixt  the  period  of  the  child's  lingering, 
"long  drawn  out"  death,  and  his  hocus-pocus  (a  la 
Willis,  we  mean)  restoration  to  life  by  the  prophet. 

The  poem  of  Jephthah's  Daughter,  we  think,  begins 
with  entirely  too  much  abruptness  : 

"  She  stood  before  her  father's  gorgeous  tent" 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  319 

There  is  a  sort  of  sneaking  resemblance  to  the  opening 
line  of  Mrs.  Hemans's  heroic  poem,  Casabianca  : 

"  The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck." 

Or  if  Mr.  Willis  and  his  admiring  coterie  will  pardon 
the  allusion,  we  may  rather  liken  it  to  a  smack  of  the 
fine  old  nursery  song  : 

"  Lord  Lovell  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate." 

We  should  suppose  from  the  following,  from  the 
same  poem,  that  Mr.  Willis  had  no  very  keen  relish 
for  a  woman's  lips,  or  no  very  nice  perceptions  of  their 
daintiness,  or  else,  having  been  born  and  bred  in  north- 
ern regions,  was  unused  to  the  tropical  growths  of  the 
sunny  South : 

"  Her  lip  was  slightly  parted,  like  the  deft 
Of  a  pomegranate  blossom" 

Now  we  are  not  at  all  of  opinion  that  the  term 
deft  when  thus  applied  is  an  admissible  expression,  for 
we  read  much  oftener  of  clefts  in  rocks  than  in  blos- 
soms. We  have  heard  of  Moses  being  ensconced  in 
the  cleft  of  a  rock  while  God's  glory  passed  along :  we 
cannot  imagine  how  Moses  could  seat  himself  in  the 
deft  of  a  blossom;  and  yet,  the  objects  being  totally 
dissimilar,  the  phrase  must  be  incorrect  in  one  or  the 
other  case.  But  we  take  the  liberty  to  submit  that 
"  the  cleft  of  a  pomegranate  blossom  "  is  as  unlike  the 
parting  of  a  woman's  lips  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive ; 
and  as  the  cleft  of  this  blossom  is  by  no  manner  of 
means  a  very  graceful  or  luscious  severance,  but  on  the 
contrary  rough  and  rugged  for  so  gorgeous  a  flower, 
we  incline  to  think  that  so  exquisite  a  gentleman  as 
Mr.  Willis  would  have  hesitated  about  the  comparison 
if  he  had  ever  seen  the  petals  of  a  pomegranate  bloom. 

While  describing  with  much  enthusiasm  the  beauty 


320  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

of  Jephthah's  daughter,  the  poet  winds  up  with  the 
following : 

"  Her  countenance  was  radiant  with  love ; 
She  looked  like  one  to  die  for  it"  &c. 

After  having  exhausted  description  of  the  same  ana- 
tomical tendencies  as  previously  gone  through  with  in 
the  case  of  Jairus's  daughter,  and  lavished  on  his  young 
heroine  every  beauty  of  thought  of  imagery,  we  are 
quite  too  suddenly  let  down  with  the  expression  above 
italicized.  To  "  die  for  it"  is  a  loose,  vulgar  arrange- 
ment of  words,  amounting  almost  to  downright  inde- 
cency. We  do  not  look  for  such  within  the  pages  of 
so  neat  a  book,  or  from  the  pen  of  so  courtly  a  littera- 
teur, especially  when  that  pen  is  engaged  with  such 
lofty  and  sacred  subjects.  We  recollect  to  have  come 
across  such  an  expression  in  the  first  pages  of  the  Heart 
of  Mid  Lothian,  where,  after  the  mob  had  broken  down 
the  door  of  the  tolbooth,  one  of  the  number  releases  an 
imprisoned  fellow-bandit,  with  the  advice,  "Rin/or  it, 
Ratcliffe  !"  Now,  at  such  a  time,  in  such  a  place,  and 
uttered  by  such  a  person,  no  expression  could  have 
been  more  appropriate  or  in  better  taste.  But  as  ap- 
plied to  so  lovely  and  interesting  a  creation  as  Jeph- 
thah's  hapless  daughter,  no  set  of  words  can  be  more 
harsh  or  unseasonable. 

"  Onward  came 
The  leaden  tramp  of  thousands." 

This,  again,  found  a  few  lines  afterward,  is  an  incor- 
rect and  unfortunate  simile.  There  is  nothing  martial 
or  stirring  in  connection  with  leaden  materials.  Lead 
gives  back  a  dull,  dead  sound.  Nor  is  it  possible  to 
understand  or  perceive  the  pith  and  point  of  an  expres- 
sion which  presupposes  leaden  shoes,  as  it  is  a  metal 
never  used  ibr  that  purpose,  whether  for  men  or  horses. 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  321 

The  last  being  evidently  alluded  to,  we  rather  think  a 
son  of  Vulcan  would  smile  at  stumbling  on  such  an 
idea. 

We  are  glad  we  can  reconcile  it  to  the  task  we  have 
undertaken,  to  say  that  we  consider  the  poem  on  Ab- 
salom quite  a  creditable  and  successful  effort, — much 
the  best  of  the  sacred  series  as  so  far  noticed.  The 
prettiest  lines  and  strongest  description  which  occur 
in  the  whole  series  may  be  found,  we  think,  in  the 
poem  of  "  Christ's  Entrance  into  Jerusalem." 

"  As  he  reach'd 

The  summit's  breezy  pitch,  the  Saviour  raised 
His  calm  blue  eye — there  stood  Jerusalem  I 

*         *        *         *        How  fair  she  look'd  — 
The  silver  sun  on  all  her  palaces, 
And  her  fair  daughters  'mid  the  golden  spires 
Tending  their  terrace  flowers,  and  Kedron's  stream 
Lacing  its  meadows  with  its  silver  band, 
And  wreathing  its  mist-mantle  on  the  sky 
With  the  morn's  exhalations." 

The  imagery  here  shadowed  forth  is  inconceivably 
grand  and  magnificent,  wholly  beyond  the  bounds  of 
the  rather  contracted  and  too  tame  description  of  Mr. 
Willis.  Indeed,  we  have  long  thought  that  this  most 
interesting  Scriptural  event  is  eminently  prolific  of  wide 
and  glorious  themes  of  contemplation,  and  we  wonder 
that  so  spiritless  a  writer,  poetically  speaking,  as  our 
author,  should  so  boldly  have  ventured  to  versificate 
the  simple  and  unadorned  narrative  of  the  sacred  pen- 
men. 

We  have  loved,  oftentimes,  to  imagine  the  incidents 
of  that  eventful  morning  when,  seated  on  the  pictur- 
esque summit  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  the  august  son 
of  Mary  gazed  sadly,  though  with  the  eager  admiration 
of  expanded  tastes,  on  the  glorious  beauties  and  re- 
14* 


322  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

splendent  panoramic  scenery  which  all  around  opened 
to  view.  And  what  would  not  his  adorers  of  the  pres- 
ent day  have  bartered  to  have  been  numbered  among 
the  little  group  whose  wondering  eyes  were  fixed,  en- 
tranced and  bewildered,  on  the  benign  and  mysterious 
young  Being  whose  lips  were  giving  utterance  to  that 
gloomy  prophecy  which  announced,  in  mournful  strains, 
the  approaching  calamities  and  woes  of  Zion  ! 

"  There  stood  Jerusalem  !  " 

The  early  rays  of  the  sun  dispensed,  perhaps,  a  cheerful 
hue  over  the  scene,  and  the  soft  breath  of  the  morning 
breeze  swept  gently  through  the  groves  of  palm  trees 
which  waved  in  the  valley.  Just  beneath,  at  the  moun- 
tain's base,  was  the  smiling  little  hamlet  of  Bethany, 
the  quiet  abode  of  the  lovely  sisters  and  their  brother, 
with  its  groups  of  neat  cottages,  and  modest  pastoral 
mansions,  half  obscured  in  the  vast  shadows  which  yet 
enveloped  them.  Beyond,  arose  in  sullen  majesty  the 
bleak  and  frowning  mountains  which  overlooked  the 
ancient  city  of  the  Canaanites,  and  immediately  be- 
tween was  Jerusalem  itself — with  its  hills,  and  winding 
walls,  and  wild  ravines — looming  in  the  mellow  light, 
with  those  stupendous  architectural  monuments  which 
had  endured  since  the  age  of  Solomon,  and  which,  long 
centuries  anterior,  had  fallen  under  the  eye  of  the  Mace- 
donian conqueror.  Rising  proudly  above  the  rest  was 
the  famous  mount  of  Zion,  the  ancient  Acropolis  of 
King  David,  crowned  with  the  splendid  palace  which 
had  once  sheltered  the  royal  lover  and  his  frail  Bath- 
sheba;  whose  spacious  harems  swarmed  afterwards 
with  the  thousand  voluptuous  houris  of  their  amorous 
son,  and  which,  even  in  ruin,  seemed  to  assert  its  former 
grandeur.  Opposite  was  the  crescent-shaped  mount  of 
Acra,  romantically  studded  with  lesser  eminences ;  and 


WILHS'S    POEMS.  323 

from  whence  to  wo  red  the  grand  and  gorgeous  struc- 
ture first  consecrated  to  the  worship  of  Israel's  God, 
the  gigantic  dimensions  of  which  yet  startle  and  be- 
wilder mankind.  We  may  easily  imagine  that,  as  the 
sun's  brilliant  rays  irradiated  the  glittering  front,  it 
appeared  to  the  group  on  Mount  Olivet  as  a  vast  moun- 
tain of  dazzlingly  white  marble,  presenting  a  magnifi- 
cent array  of  domes,  and  pillars,  and  turrets,  all  fretted 
with  golden  pinnacles,  which,  touched  with  the  resplen- 
dence of  the  early  morn,  shone  with  surpassing  gran- 
deur. Intervening  was  the  broad  valley  of  the  Cheese- 
mongers, so  famed  in  Bible  story,  and  from  the  dark 
bosom  of  which  bubbled  the  sparkling  pool  of  Siloam ; 
while  on  the  north,  from  amidst  cliffs  and  crags  cov- 
ered scantily  with  dwarfed  shrubbery,  was  Calvary — 
destined,  a  few  months  afterward,  to  tremble  beneath 
the  wonders*  and  the  horrors  of  the  crucifixion.  Be- 
neath were  seen  the  rock-clad  streets  which  had  been 
so  often  threaded  by  the  hostile  bands  of  Gentile  con- 
querors, and  so  often  drenched  with  the  blood  of  pros- 
trate Israel.  Before  that  temple  had  Alexander  paused 
to  reverence  the  High  Priest.  There  the  Syrian  chief- 
tain, surrounded  by  his  fierce  soldiery,  had  designed  to 
honor  the  Jehovah  of  his  fallen  foe ;  and  there,  too, 
had  Pompey  the  Great,  fresh  from  the  gory  field,  bent 
his  haughty  spirit  before  the  hallowed  associations  be- 
longing to  the  spot. 

Such  are  the  imperfectly  told  and  mere  skeleton 
outlines  of  a  theme  which  might  have  challenged  the 
minstrelsy  of  a  Homer,  but  which  Mr.  Willis,  with 
singular  apathy  and  negligence,  has  been  content  to 
cramp  up  within  the  space  of  some  half  dozen  lines,  in 
despite  of  its  crowds  of  suggestive  associations  so  le- 
gitimately appropriate  to  his  subject. 

The  limits  of  a  critique  will  not  allow  us  thus  to  loi- 


324  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

ter ;  we  must  pass  on,  therefore,  to  the  "  Baptism  of 
Christ."  Our  attention  is  first  arrested  by  these 
lines: 

"Softly  in 

Through  a  long  aisle  of  willows,  dim  and  cool, 
Stole  the  clear  waters  with  their  muffled  feet? 

We  do  not  know,  in  the  first  place,  what  business  the 
preposition  in  has  where  we  find  it,  unless  Mr.  Willis 
designed,  at  the  risk  of  grammar,  to  lengthen  his  line 
to  the  proper  measure  ;  but  we  are  utterly  confounded 
when  our  author  eomes  to  speak  of  the  "  muffled  feet " 
of  "  clear  waters."  We  are  familiar  with  the  expres- 
sion, "  foot  of  the  mountain,"  or  "  foot  of  the  hill,"  but 
we  have  jumped  up  for  the  first  time  that  of  the  feet 
of  waters — muffled  at  that.  We  are  to  suppose,  how- 
ever, that  as  we  become  acquainted  with  Willisiana 
perfumes,  we  are  in  like  manner  to  learn  Willisiana 
figures  of  speech,  having  already  shaken  hands  with 
the  "  fingers  of  the  dawn,"  and  stumbled  against  the 
"muifled  feet"  of  water. 

A  few  lines  after  these  we  find  that  Mr.  Willis,  with 
the  unrestrained  privileges  of  a  poet,  ventures  unhesi- 
tatingly and  quite  complacently  to  settle  a  Scriptural 
quarrel  which  has  consumed  hundreds  of  disputatious 
folios,  and  has  puzzled  learned  theologians  ever  since 
the  apostolic  era ;  for,  alluding  to  John  the  Baptist,  we 
meet  with  the  lines  describing  him  as 

"  He  stood  breast-high  amid  the  running  stream, 
Baptizing  as  the  Spirit  gave  him  power." 

It  is  by  no  means  conceded  by  Christians  that  John 
actually  went  into  the  "  running  stream ; "  and  although 
Mr.  Willis's  version  may  be  sanctioned  by  the  sectaries 
of  the  old  Baptist  denomination  and  the  neophytes  of 
the  Campbellian  school  of  divinity,  we  yet  think  that 


WILLIS'S    POEMS.  325 

the  same  would  be  denounced  as  heretical  and  unortho- 
dox by  the  doctors  of  Geneva,  of  Oxford,  and  of  the 
Sorbonne ;  while  even  Rome  might  fulminate  her  Pa- 
pal bulls  against  the  rash  assumption. 

We  take  the  following  from  the  poem  of  Hagar  in 
the  Wilderness : 

"  It  was  an  hour  of  rest ;  but  Hagar  found 
No  shelter  in  the  wilderness,  and  on 
She  kept  her  weary  way,  until  the  boy 
Hung  down  his  head,  and  open'd  his  parch'd  lips 
For  water ;  but  she  could  not  give  it  him. 
She  laid  Urn  down  beneath  the  sultry  sky — 
For  it  was  better  than  the  close,  hot  breath 
Of  the  thick  pines — and  tried  to  comfort  him ; 
But  he  was  sore  athirst,  and  his  blue  eyes 
Were  dim  and  bloodshot,  and  he  could  not  know 
Why  God  denied  him  water  in  the  wild. 
She  sat  a  little  longer,  and  he  grew 
Ghastly  and  faint,  as  if  he  would  have  died. 
It  was  too  much  for  her.     She  lifted  him 
And  bore  him  further  on,  and  laid  his  head 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  desert  shrub ; 
And  shrouding  up  her  face,  she  went  away, 
And  sat  to  watch,  where  he  could  see  her  not, 
Till  he  should  die." 

Taken  as  a  whole,  we  must  pronounce  this  extract 
to  be  very  awkward,  very  inexpressive,  unideal,  and 
commonplace.  Besides  the  sluggish  composition,  there 
is  exhibited  a  most  woful  deficiency  in  creativeness  of 
imagination  and  artistic  ingenuity.  If  we  analyze  mi- 
nutely, it  is  to  be  feared  that  numerous  minor  blem- 
ishes may  be  shown.  In  the  short  space  of  eighteen 
lines  the  words  he  and  she  are  made  to  occur  eleven 
times ;  as  if  the  author's  ideas  could  not  be  cut  loose 
from  his  characters.  During  the  same  time  Hagar  rose 
up  and  sat  down  again  twice.  She  lifts  Ishmael  up 
and  lays  him  down  twice.  The  last  time  she  leaves 


326  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

him  to  repose  in  a  rather  intangible  and  undefinable 
place,  for  Mr.  Willis  tells  us  she  "  laid  his  head  beneath 
the  shadow  of  a  desert  shrub."  We  should  suppose 
that  a  desert  or  leafless  shrub  would  afford  but  scanty 
shade,  where  even  "  thick  pines  "  had  been  found  too 
"  close  and  hot." 

"  Fair  were  his  locks.     His  snowy  teeth  divided 
A  bow  of  Love,  drawn  with  a  scarlet  thread." 

These  lines  are  found  while  describing  one  of  the 
sons  of  Rizpah ;  but  the  reader  is  wiser  than  we  claim 
to  be,  if  he  can  unravel  the  meaning.  How  "  snowy 
teeth  "  can  divide  a  "  bow  of  Love,"  we  are  wholly  un- 
able to  divine ;  nor  can  we  tell  what  earthly  connection 
a  "  scarlet  thread  "  can  have  with  the  figure. 

The  same  poem  furnishes  another  specimen  of  laby- 
rinthal  composition : 

"  He  who  wept  with  Mary — angels  keeping 
Their  unthank'd  watch,  are  a  foreshadowing 
Of  what  love  is  in  heaven." 

It  would  require,  we  think,  a  ball  of  our  author's  "  scar- 
let thread  "  to  wind  through  this  foggy  complicity  of 
words  at  all  understandingly. 

We  next  get  something  of  an  ethereal  adventure : 

"  0  conscious  heart ! 
******* 
Number  thy  lamps  of  love,  and  tell  me,  now, 
How  many  canst  thou  re-light  at  the  stars, 
And  blush  not  at  their  burning ! " 

This  is  decidedly  of  the  Swedenborgian  cast — so  refined 
and  so  spiritualized  as  to  bully  conjecture  and  frighten 
fancy.  We  would  be  pleased,  moreover,  if  Mr.  Willis 
will  explain  the  aptness  of  the  allusion,  when,  speaking 
of  the  heart,  he  asks  if  it  will  blush  f 


WILLIS'S  POEMS.  327 

"We  decline,  for  the  present,  to  notice  "  Lazarus  and 
Mary,"  and  must  here  close  with  our  excerpts  from  the 
"  Sacred  Poems."  We  trust  that  the  admirers  of  Mr. 
Willis  may  pardon  to  candor  much  that  has  seemed 
bitter  and  harsh  in  the  foregoing  review.  We  have 
been  led  to  undertake  the  task  less  from  any  exalted 
opinion  of  our  author's  merits  as  a  poet,  than  with  a 
view  to  set  before  the  reader,  fairly  and  undisguisedly, 
the  nature  and  quality  of  that  poetry,  which,  in  certain 
circles,  has  lifted  Mr.  Willis  to  that  pedestal  of  favor 
which  he  so  modestly  acknowledges  in  his  preface.  It 
has  been  perceived,  doubtless,  that  we  do  not  concede 
that  unhesitating  and  redoubtable  supremacy  to  which 
our  author  has  so  flippantly  laid  claim.  On  the  con- 
trary, we  must  frankly  declare  that  we  consider  Mr. 
Willis  a  very  ordinary  and  indifferent  writer  of  poetry, 
and  can  only  wonder  how  he  became  so  grossly  pos- 
sessed as  to  suppose  that  he  could  conjure  with  a  true 
wizard's  rod,  or  sweep  the  harp  with  a  minstrel's  grace 
and  skill.  But  his  poetry,  such  even  as  it  is,  has  been 
too  much  the  theme  of  undisputed  laudation  heretofore 
to  make  it  altogether  a  condescension  to  scrutinize  and 
test  its  merits.  The  admirers  of  Mr.  Willis  cannot  ex- 
pect to  so  venalize  others  of  less  susceptible,  and,  per- 
haps, less  indulgent  temperaments,  as  to  extort  univer- 
sal concessions  in  favor  of  their  poet's  claims  to  the 
laurel  wreath.  It  has  been,  all  along,  their  good  pleas- 
ure and  his  interest  to  cry  up  and  extol  these  feeble 
offerings  to  the  shrine  of  the  Muses.  Nobody  has  felt 
any  pleasure,  or  taken  any  interest,  in  crying  them 
down.  But  we  think  that  this  indifference  has  been 
carried  quite  far  enough ;  while  leniency  may  become 
culpable  in  view  of  Mr.  Willis's  vaulting  ambition  and 
excessive  vanity,  as  well  as  of  the  extravagances  of  his 
admirers ;  and  especially  in  view  of  the  very  serious 


328  WILLIS'S  POEMS. 

fact  that  American  literature,  and  not  its  counterfeit 
votaries,  has  to  pay  the  penalty  of  all  this  hapless  amia- 
bility and  indifference.  For  nothing  is  more  certain 
than  that  by  thus  clogging  the  avenues  to  eminence 
with  swarms  of  rampant,  vain-glorious,  elbowing  pre- 
tenders, the  doors  are  effectually  closed  against  such  as 
may  really  deserve  to  enter.  Men  of  real  talent  disdain 
to  resort  to  unworthy  devices,  or  to  join  in  unbecoming 
scuffles.  Their  mushroom  competitors,  on  the  contrary, 
are  none  too  proud  to  stoop  to  any  or  all  species  of 
what  may  now  be  termed  Barnumania,  to  attain  a 
sickly  and  an  ephemeral  notoriety,  and  to  pick  up  those 
scanty  "  present  gains  "  to  which  Mr.  Willis  so  candidly 
alludes  in  the  preface  to  his  book. 

But  we  would  not  be  understood  as  meaning  to 
class  Mr.  Willis  with  that  herd  of  despicable  and  dis- 
gusting scribblers  who,  despite  their  blathering  and 
nauseous  excrescences,  have  so  subsidized  penny  presses 
as  to  crowd  out,  temporarily,  all  genuine  literary  vota- 
ries, and  to  infect  the  country  with  daily  emissions  of 
noisome  nonsense,  alike  baneful  to  the  encouragement 
of  merit,  and  to  the  development  of  national  literary 
resources.  On  the  contrary,  we  desire  to  say  that 
whatever  contempt  we  may  entertain  for  Mr.  Willis's 
verses,  we  have  yet  seen  much  from  his  pen  in  a  more 
appropriate  and  dignified  department,  that  indicated, 
to  our  humble  and  imperfect  judgment,  talent  of  a  very 
high  and  enviable  order.  But  while  entertaining  a  very 
high  opinion  of  much  of  his  prose  writings,  we  are  yet 
constrained  to  say,  that  our  author  would,  to  our  judg- 
ment, have  better  consulted  his  self-respect  by  abstain- 
ing from  all  adventurings  in  the  way  of  poetry. 

We  shall  now  dismiss  Mr.  Willis  and  his  poems,  for 
the  present;  promising,  by-the-by,  that  we  design  to 
resume  and  complete,  in  some  future  number,  our  con- 


WILLIS'S    POEMS.  329 

fcemplated  task  of  examining  his  entire  book  of  "  sacred, 
passionate,  and  humorous "  poems ;  and  that  although 
we  have  chosen  to  select  him,  first,  as  the  expiatory 
offering  to  the  offended  literary  genius  of  America,  he 
shall  not  be  the  last. 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.* 

THESE  poems,  taken  as  a  whole,  form  a  book  at 
once  tasteless,  tedious,  and  uninteresting.  We  had 
once  some  hopes  of  Mr.  Longfellow  as  a  poet,  but  his 
book  has,  unfortunately,  spoiled  all — has  even  spirited 
away  the  partiality  we  had  entertained  for  some  of  his 
fugitive  poems  which  chance  threw  in  our  way  some 
years  since,  and  which,  now  that  they  are  thrown  in 
company  with  the  pithless  train  before  us,  have  some- 
how lost  their  former  hold.  Familiarity,  it  is  said, 
breeds  contempt ;  and  if  the  truth  of  the  old  proverb 
is  doubted,  we  need  only  refer,  in  proof,  some  lang 
syne  friend  of  this  author,  who,  like  ourself,  may  have 
been  momentarily  won  to  an  American  poet  by  some 
stray  lines  travelling  the  newspaper  rounds, — we  need 
only  to  refer  such,  we  say,  to  the  elaborated  produc- 
tion now  in  our  view ;  and  if  he  can  so  tax  his  patience 
and  his  taste  as  to  read  through  both  volumes,  we  are 
quite  sure  that  he  will  doubt  no  longer.  We  know 
that  this  is  a  very  harsh  sentence,  but  there  is  consola- 
tion in  knowing  also  that  malice  is  not  the  prompter. 
There  are,  on  the  contrary,  strong  reasons  why  we 
could  have  wished  to  admire  and  praise  Mr.  Longfel- 

*  Poems.    By  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow.    In  two  volumes.    A 
new  edition.    Boston :  Ticknor,  Reed  and  Fields. 


LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS.  331 

low's  poetry.  He  is,  in  the  first  place,  an  American ; 
and  this,  of  itself,  is  a  sufficient  cause  to  induce  regret 
that  his  book  of  poems  has  fallen  so  very  far  short  of 
that  standard  which,  in  our  judgment,  must  be  fully 
compassed,  if  one  would  attain  to  even  passing  excel- 
lence in  this  hallowed  art.  It  is  greatly  to  be  lament- 
ed, indeed,  that  our  land  should  have  been,  thus  far, 
so  barren  in  this  respect ;  and  the  mystery  is,  how  to 
account  for  it  ?  The  harvest  is  plentiful — themes  are 
not  wanting — minstrelsy  is  challenged  on  all  sides. 
The  Indian  history,  wandering  through  the  checkered 
fortunes  of  a  thousand  different  tribes,  abounds  richly 
in  the  lore  of  tradition.  The  charms  of  nature,  whether 
in  the  association  of  primeval  forests,  of  scenery  wild, 
majestic,  and  beautiful,  of  lakes  and  rivers  overflowing 
with  legendary  interest,  are  every  where  displayed 
through  a  region  extending  from  latitudes  of  unbroken 
winter  to  perennial  spring  and  tropical  suns.  History 
teems  with  numberless  events — thrilling,  vivifying,  en- 
chanting— which  are  linked  with  poetic  inspirations, 
and  which  belong  more  properly  to  verse  than  to  prose. 
Romance  and  reality,  both,  dallyingly  open  their  storied 
arms,  and  invite  a  foray  on  their  luxuriant  possessions. 
The  wondrous  tales  of  the  Mexican  Conquest — the 
lovely  and  touching  story  of  Pocahontas — the  landing 
of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers — the  wild  legends  of  King 
Philip's  heroism — the  Salem  witches — and  many  other 
incidents  which  might  be  named,  all  afford  tangible 
material  with  which  to  weave  a  poet's  chaplet.  The 
poetry  shines  in  every  page  of  the  old  chroniclers' 
quaint  books,  from  Bernal  Diaz  to  Captain  Smith  and 
Cotton  Mather.  No  pedantry,  no  tasteless  detail  can 
distort  or  smother  the  enlivening  features  of  song, 
which  gather  shape  and  symmetry  as  we  turn  each 
succeeding  leaf. 


332  LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS. 

Here,  then,  is  ample  ground — ample  inducement ; 
but  genius,  so  far,  is  the  thing  yet  lacked.  So  far,  in- 
deed* as  prose  is  concerned,  master  artists  have  been 
engaged  in  the  work.  Prescott,  Irving,  and  Cooper 
have  gone  over  the  field,  and  illumined  the  path  to 
poetical  elicitation.  Their  works  have  clothed  history 
with  a  fascination  that  the  sons  of  song,  whose  province 
it  more  properly  is  to  gather  the  romance  of  early  time, 
may  well  envy,  and  has  thrown  all  attempts  at  min- 
strelsy completely  in  the  background.  What  Goethe 
and  Schiller  have  done  for  Germany — what  Camoens 
did  for  Portugal — what  Moore  has  done  for  Ireland, 
and  Walter  Scott  for  Caledonia,  these  illustrious 
writers,  though  no  poets,  have  accomplished  for  our 
country.  All  human  beings,  of  whatever  clime  or 
tongue,  long  for  some  information  about  past  times  in 
their  history,  and  are  delighted  with  narratives  which 
present  pictures  to  the  eye  of  the  mind.  To  this  may 
be  traced  the  origin  of  ballad  poetry  and  of  metrical 
romance ;  and  the  man  who  possesses  the  genius  to 
embellish  the  scanty  but  treasured  memorials  of  early- 
day  scenes  and  events,  will  always  be  highly  esteemed 
in  his  own  generation,  and  almost  reverenced  by  a 
grateful  posterity.  To  this  enviable  fame,  no  one  in 
our  country  has  yet  preferred  a  successful  suit.  The 
materials  languish  in  neglect,  and  have  nearly  gone  to 
decay.  Our  rhymers  are  full  of  every  other  kind  of 
poetry  save  that  which  alone  is  open  to  them.  They 
are  eternally  inditing  silly  verses  about  every-day  silly 
things — are  lavishing  pretty  words  in  the  sickly  at- 
tempt to  retouch  and  embellish  Scriptural  incidents — 
making  sonnets  about  flowers,  and  cigar-girls,  and 
pigeon-nests ;  or  else,  like  Mr.  Longfellow,  are  running 
a  wild-goose  chase  to  catch  up  insipid  fragments  of 
German  or  Swedish  verse,  for  which  the  reading  por- 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  338 

tion  of  their  own  countrymen  care  about  as  much  as 
they  care  for  a  translation  of  Merlin,  or  a  reprint  of 
Henry  the  Eighth's  Defence  of  the  Roman  Church. 
And  yet  these  venal  pretenders  are  called  poets,  have 
admiring  coteries,  assume  a  puny  arrogance  of  air  and 
manner,  and,  now  and  then,  flaunt  over  to  England, 
that,  after  begging  a  reluctant  moiety  of  praise  from 
one  or  two  writers  anxious  to  court  American  favor, 
they  may  prop  their  petty  productions  by  exhibiting  a 
transatlantic  puff. 

"  These  are  the  themes  that  claim  our  plaudits  now, 
These  are  the  bards  to  whom  the  Muse  must  bow." 

We  may  here  quite  aptly  observe,  in  this  connec- 
tion, that  among  the  aphorisms  admitted  by  general 
consent,  and  inculcated  by  frequent  repetition,  there  is 
none  more  famous  than  that  compendious  monition : 
Gnothi  seauton — be  acquainted  with  thyself.  In  gen- 
eral, we  are  far  more  willing  to  study  others  than  to 
study  ourselves ;  and  hence  it  so  frequently  occurs  that 
men,  seduced  by  incautious  self-admiration  or  by  the 
flattery  of  weak  friends,  so  often  mistake  their  calling 
and  their  gifts,  and  blindly  run  counter  to  their  des- 
tiny. Men  of  good  common  sense,  and  of  unquestiona- 
ble talent,  are  sometimes  as  apt  as  their  inferiors  to  fall 
into  this  common  error.  On  no  other  ground  can  we 
account  for  Mr.  Longfellow's  poetical  adventurings. 
No  one  can  doubt  but  that  he  is  a  man  of  practical 
sense,  of  very  considerable  talent,  and  of  high  and  en- 
viable attainments  as  a  scholar ;  yet  we  see  the  strong 
evidences  of  nature's  inconsistency  in  his  condescension 
to  father  poems  which  might  have  graced  the  Dunciad, 
and  which,  for  bad  taste  and  tame  composition,  might 
stand  a  comparison  with  the  shallowest  specimens  of 
the  American  school.  Indeed,  this  gentleman,  highly 


334  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

accomplished  though  he  may  be  in  other  respects, 
seems  to  be  fatuitously  possessed  with  the  idea  that 
whoever  can  make  words  rhyme,  or  arrange  words  in 
strange  and  fantastic  measures  by  square  and  rule,  may 
aspire  to  minstrelsy ;  that  a  man  may  become  a  poet 
by  a  simple  act  of  volition.  This  same  hallucination 
has,  we  suppose,  given  birth  to  the  thousand  and  one 
scrambling  and  puny  contestants  who  have  ventured 
to  attune  their  crazed,  discordant  lyres,  and  to  set  up 
for  being  recognized  as  American  poets.  The  observer 
has  only  to  witness,  momentarily,  this  selfish,  elbowing 
strife  of  frantic  aspirants — each,  like  the  hackmen  who 
infest  hotels  and  depots,  crying  and  huckstering  for  the 
floating  penny — to  find  out  the  secret  of  our  deficiency 
as  regards  true  poetical  development.  It  thus  stands 
disgustingly  revealed  to  his  vision,  and,  of  course,  ex- 
cites most  unmitigated  contempt.  No  wonder  that 
the  muse  should  shrink  from  competition  with  the 
rampant  and  vulgar  herd  ! 

Now,  we  should  have  thought  that  Mr.  Longfel- 
low's ripe  scholarship  would  have  effectually  unfolded 
to  him  the  dangers  and  the  miseries  of  poetasting  in 
the  absence  of  natural  endowments,  and  have  also  con- 
vinced him  that  Horace  uttered  no  untruth  in  declaring 
that  a  poet  is  born,  not  made.  Indeed,  we  incline  to 
think  that  the  Roman  bard,  when  inditing  the  follow- 
ing advice,  was  seeking  to  forewarn  just  such  unwary 
aspirants  as  the  author  of  whom  we  are  speaking : 

"  Ludere  qui  noscit,  campcstribus  abstinct  armis, 
Indoctusque  pilae  discivo  trochive  quicscit, 
No  spissae  risura  tollant  impune  coronas : 
Qui  nescit,  versus  tamen  audit  fingere  !     Quidni  ? 
Liber  et  ingenuus,  praesertim  census  equestrem 
Summam  nummorum,  vitioque  remotus  ab  omni. 
Tu  nihil  invita  dices  faciosve  MincrvA ; 


LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS.  335 

Id  tibi  judicium  est,  ea  meus :  si  quid  tamen  olim 

Scripseris,  in  Metii  descendat  judicis  aures, 

Et  patris,  et  nostras ;  nonumque  preraatur  in  annum. 

Mcmbranis  intus  positis,  delere  licebit 

Quod  non  edideris ;  nescit  vox  raissa  reverti." 

If  Mr.  Longfellow  had  been  less  learned  than  he  is ; 
if  he  had  been  gifted  with  no  talent  more  likely  to  lift 
him  to  eminence ;  if,  longing  for  fame,  he  could  have 
addressed  himself  to  nothing  else  as  a  mean  of  attain- 
ment than  reckless  poetical  errantries ;  if,  in  fine,  he 
had  not  opened  a  pathway  to  literary  renown  through 
the  surer  medium  of  classic  and  dignified  prose,  there 
would  be  more  excuse  for  his  presumption  in  throwing 
before  a  critical  and  discriminative  public  the  rickety 
verses  of  the  two  volumes  now  under  review,  and  we, 
in  common  with  many  others,  might  have  been  inclined 
to  exercise  more  amiability  and  charity.  As  it  is,  we 
have  before  us  the  picture  of  an  accomplished  and  as- 
tute Professor  turned  topsy-turvy  by  a  poetic  mania, 
and  evidently  laboring  under  the  inflictions  of  a  diseased 
and  morbid  ambition.  The  least  censorious  would  be 
hard  put  up  to  find  a  palliative  for  this  rhyming  furor 
in  one  from  whom  better  things  might  have  been  ex- 
pected ;  for  it  requires  no  ordinary  effort  to  suppress  a 
feeling  of  contempt  that  tastes,  otherwise  so  well  adapt- 
ed, should  thus  have  been  perverted  to  idolatrous  ob- 
lations at  the  shrine  of  a  mongrel  deity,  no  more  akin 
to  the  true  goddess  of  verse  than  was  the  spurious  cre- 
ation of  Prometheus  to  a  real  man.  Mr.  Longfellow 
may,  we  think,  gratefully  thank  his  stars  if,  after  these 
feeble  offerings  to  the  muse,  he  shah1  escape  the  just 
vengeance  which  overtook  this  bold  usurper  of  Jove's 
functions. 

The  first  of  these  volumes  opens  with  a  prelude,  as 
the  author  calls  it,  to  a  series  of  poems  entitled  "  Voices 


336  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

of  the  Night,"  and  is  not  altogether  unpleasant ;  in- 
deed, we  are  not  quite  certain  but  that  it  is  the  pret- 
tiest composition  to  be  found  in  the  whole  book.  It 
certainly  approximates  much  nearer  than  any  other 
piece  to  real  poetry,  of  which  the  following  stanza  is  a 
partial  evidence : 

"  The  green  trees  whispered  low  and  mild, 

It  was  a  sound  of  joy ! 
They  were  my  playmates  when  a  child, 
And  rocked  me  in  their  arms  so  wild  ! 
Still  they  looked  at  me  and  smiled 
As  if  I  were  a  boy." 

We  desire  not  to  be  hypercritical  with  our  author, 
and  we  will  say  that  the  sentiment  of  the  stanza  is 
tinged  with  true  poetry,  though  we  must  insist  that 
the  stanza  itself  is  not  so  harmoniously  worded  as  the 
idea  might  have  warranted. 

The  author  is  represented  as  the  hero ;  who,  after 
giving  us  an  introduction  to  himself,  tells  of  how  he 
wandered  into  the  heart  of  a  venerable  forest,  com- 
muned with  the  trees  and  the  air,  received  a  call  to 
write  poetry,  and  then  winds  up  by  informing  us  that 
he  is  restricted  to  writing  only  solemn  lines.  We  can 
assure  the  reader  that  the  restriction  is  not  broken. 
The  whole  work  is  sicklied  over  with  the  snuffling  cant 
of  the  conventicle,  sometimes  bordering  on  a  sort  of 
versified  litany  or  Te  Deum. 

The  first  Voice  is  a  Hymn  to  the  Night,  consisting 
of  six  stanzas,  set  to  some  particular  metre  with  which 
we  happen  not  to  be  acquainted.  As  a  specimen,  we 
quote  the  three  last,  italicizing  what  we  consider  es- 
pecially flat  and  puny : 

"From  the  cool  cisterns  of  the  midnight  air, 

My  spirit  drank  repose  ; 
The  fountain  of  perpetual  peace  flows  there — 
From  those  deep  cisterns  flows. 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  337 

"  0  holy  Night !  from  thee  I  learn  to  bear 

What  man  has  borne  before  ! 
Thou  layest  fay  finger  on  the  lips  of  care, 
And  they  complain  no  more, 

"  Peace !  peace !  Orestes-like  I  breathe  this  prayer : 

Descend  with  broad-winged  flight, 
The  welcome,  the  thrice-prayed  for,  the  most  fair, 
The  best-beloved  Mght!" 

Next  in  succession  comes  a  Psalm  of  Life — dull  and 
commonplace  enough — which  reminds  us,  as  to  meas- 
ure, of  the  mystic  chant  of  Meg  Merrilies,  beginning — 

"  Twist  ye,  twine  ye,  even  so,"  &c.  &c. 

But  the  half-demented  old  gipsy  indulges  a  strain  at 
once  wild,  striking,  and  rhythmical ;  whereas,  the  Psalm 
is  deficient  in  every  respect,  and  we  cite  a  stanza  in 
proof: 

"  Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow, 
Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 
Find  us  farther  than  to-day." 

The  first  line  is  as  bad  as  it  can  be — not  only  bad 
taste,  but  bad  grammar ;  for  we  have  two  nouns  nomi- 
native most  unmusically  and  incorrectly  qualified  with 
a  negative  each,  and  then  connected  by  a  conjunction. 
Poetry  is  not  passable  when,  by  disjointing  the  rhythm, 
it  will  not  make  good  prose ;  and  this  being  so,  we 
cannot  see  how  Mr.  Longfellow  will  ever  reconcile  his 
two  negatives. 

"We  cannot  pause  to  find  fault  with  each  of  this 
series  as  they  come ;  but  the  fifth  in  the  succession  is 
so  strangely  unique,  so  flimsy,  and  so  peculiarly  of  the 
heteroclitical  species,  that,  in  justice  both  to  the  author 
and  to  our  criticism,  we  feel  bound  to  transcribe  it  en- 
tirely; only  asking  the  reader  to  notice  the  noncha- 
lance with  which  rhyme  is  taken  up  and  then  dropped, 
15 


338  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

tacked  on  or  shaken  off  to  suit  the  idea,. evoked  or  dis- 
carded as  caprice  may  suggest,  or  as  invention  may 
hold  out.  It  is  entitled,  "  Footsteps  of  Angels : " 

"  When  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered, 

And  the  Voices  of  the  Night 
Wake  the  hetter  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

"  Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted, 

And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 
Shadows  from  the  fitful  firelight 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 

"  Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted, 
Come  to  visit  me  once  more. 

"  He  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 

Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 
Weary  with  the  march  of  life  ! 

"  They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 

Who  the  cross  and  suffering  bore, 
Folded  then*  pale  hands  so  meekly, 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more  ! 

"And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous 

Who  unto  my  youth  was  given, 
More  than  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

"  With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 

Comes  that  messenger  divine, 
Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

"  And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 
Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like, 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 


LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS.  339 

"  Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended, 

Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 
Soft  rebukes,  in  blessing  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 

"  Oh,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely, 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 
If  I  but  remember  only 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died  ! " 

Surely  nothing  more  insipid,  lifeless,  unoriginal,  was 
ever  put  off  for  poetry !  What  though  a  moiety  of 
soft  sentiment  dwells  in  the  idea — and  Mr.  Longfellow 
does  not  lack  for  ideas — how  tantalizing  it  is  to  shroud 
and  smother  the  same  in  a  congealed  mass  of  stale, 
shilly-shally  rhymes ! 

The  "  Midnight  Mass  for  the  Dying  Year,"  we  must 
candidly  pronounce  to  be  really  pitiful  and  drivelling. 
We  give  below  the  three  first  and  the  middle  stanzas : 

"  Yes,  the  Year  is  growing  old, 

And  his  eye  is  pale  and  bleared : 
Death,  with  frosty  hand  and  cold, 
Plucks  the  old  man  by  the  beard. 

Sorely — sorely  I 
"  The  leaves  are  falling,  falling, 

Solemnly  and  slow : 
Caw  !  caw  !  the  rooks  are  calling, 
It  is  a  sound  of  woe, 

A  sound  of  woe! 
"  Through  woods  and  mountain  passes 

The  winds,  like  anthems,  roll ; 
They  are  chanting  solemn  masses, 
Singing,  '  Pray  for  this  poor  soul, 

Pray — pray ! ' 
*  *  *  * 

"  To  the  crimson  woods  he  saith, 
To  the  voice  gentle  and  low 
Of  the  soft  air,  like  a  daughter's  breath, 
*  Pray  do  not  mock  me  so  ! 

Do  not  laugh  at  me  ! '  " 


340  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

With  this  poem  ends  the  first  series.  "We  come 
next  to  the  "  Earlier  Poems ;  "  and  we  will  here  ven- 
ture to  suggest  that  it  is  a  pity  the  author's  poetical 
aspirations  could  not  have  been  satisfied  at  this  point, 
and  with  these  juvenescent  achievements.  His 'fame  as 
a  writer  would  then  have  been  without  a  shade,  and 
we  should  have  been  spared  the  present  undertaking ; 
for  although  there  is,  as  might  be  naturally  expected, 
some  silly  sentimentalizing  among  them,  there  is  yet 
much  to  admire  in  these  youthful  offerings  to  the  Muse. 
The  following  verses,  taken  from  the  poem  of  "  Woods 
in  Winter,"  possess  much  harmony  and  sweetness : 

"  When  winter  winds  are  piercing  chill, 

And  through  the  hawthorn  blows  the  gale, 
With  solemn  feet  I  tread  the  hill, 
That  overbrows  the  lonely  vale. 

***** 
"  Where,  twisted  round  the  barren  oak, 
The  summer  vine  in  beauty  clung, 
And  summer  winds  the  stillness  broke, 
The  crystal  icicle  is  hung. 

***** 
"  Alas !  how  changed  from  the  fair  scene, 

When  birds  sang  out  their  mellow  lay, 

Ahd  winds  were  soft  and  woods  were  green, 

And  the  song  ceased  not  with  the  day." 

These  poems,  as  we  are,  indeed,  frankly  told  in  the 
preface,  were  written  in  the  halcyon  period  of  life — the 
bright  and  balmy  years  of  youth.  It  is  the  season 
when  the  spirit  of  poetry  stirs  within  evel"p  bosom. 
The  humble  ploughboy,  even,  feels  the  inspiration, 
though  he  may  never  attune  the  sentiment  and  bring  it 
into  being ;  and  as  he  roams  the  flowery  fields,  and  in- 
hales the  freshening  breath  of  early  spring,  words  of 
song  float  dreamingly  through  his  untutored  senses,  in- 
fusing into  his  soul  the  healthful  incense  of  bright  hopes 


LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS.  341 

to  cheer  the  dull  monotony  of  more  real  scenes.  The 
same  feeling  pervades,  to  a  much  greater  extent,  the 
inmate  of  the  academy  or  the  college — who,  imbibing 
daily  the  glowing  imagery  of  the  classic  writers,  and 
feasting  the  young  mind  on  choice  dainties"  culled  from 
the  rich  garner  of  ancient  and  treasured  lore,  gives 
vent  to  inspiration  by  clothing  opening  life  with  the 
genial  garb  of  poesy,  mingling  with  its  real  scenes  the 
lively  impressions  of  excited  fancy,  which  are  only 
erased  when  remorseless  time  first  lays  its  cold  touch 
on  the  heart  to  awaken  it  to  a  sense  of  the  world's 
drudgery.  Hence,  we  suppose  that  there  is  scarcely 
one  graduate  out  of  every  hundred  who  has  not,  at 
some  golden  moment  of  this  shining  period,  blotted  a 
lady's  album  or  his  own  scrap-book  with  some  fugitive, 
heartfelt  offering  to  the  Muse,  which,  even  in  long  after 
years,  will  be  found  to  own  some  sentiment  allied  with 
purer  days,  and  to  be  possessed  of  some  merit  interwo- 
ven with  the  dawn  of  thought,  and  fresh  from  recesses 
of  the  heart  which  then  knew  not  the  world's  corrosive 
blight.  Most  men,  instinctively  aware  of  these  illusory 
temptations,  stop  with  their  early  effusions,  well  know- 
ing that,  though  almost  every  person  may  thus  be  im- 
pressed with  poetic  impulses,  it  is  not  decreed  that 
every  man  shall  be  a  poet  born.  Others,  unwarily  se- 
duced by  these  guileful  phantasmata,  and  foolishly  per 
suading  themselves  that  "  the  Land  of  Song  "  lies  before 
them,  swim  along  heedlessly  with  the  current,  until,  all 
at  once,  the  limpid  waters  of  the  fountain  are  swallowed 
up  in  that  muddy  abyss  where  so  many  frail  barques, 
with  their  frailer  pilots,  have  gone  to  wreck  and  ruin. 

This,  we  gather  from  his  "  Prelude,"  has  been  the 
case  with  Mr.  Longfellow,  who,  if  not  already  stranded 
on  these  friendless  shores,  will,  unless  he  shall  take 
timely  warning,  ultimately  perish  among  the  wild  and 


342  LONGFELLOW'S    POEMS. 

desert  wastes  of  this  unfathomed  ocean.  And  if,  in  the 
course  of  these  further  remarks,  we  shall  draw  from  his 
after  productions  such  specimens  as  may  serve  to  bring 
him  to  his  proper  senses,  or  that  shah1  wean  him  from 
these  will-o'-the-wisp  pursuits,  and  set  him  again  on  the 
open  plain  of  his  true  element,  we  think  his  readers,  yet 
remembering  with  pleasure  the  interesting  pages  of 
Hyperion,  will  thank  us  for  the  deed,  no  matter  how 
roughly  it  may  have  been  achieved. 

To  effect  this,  we  must  now  pass  on  from  these 
early-day  offerings,  and  pause  for  a  while  amid  the  soul- 
less pages  of  his  "  Translations."  We  are  not  sufficient 
scholars  to  undertake  to  scan  the  merits  of  his  German, 
French,  or  Spanish  renderings  ;  and,  as  concerns  these, 
therefore,  must  content  ourselves  with  the  single  ob- 
servation, that  we  never  before  met  with  a  more  bar- 
ren and  bleak  foundation  on  which  to  begin  the  labor 
of  translation,  than  we  behold  in  the  poems  selected  on 
this  occasion.  But  there  is  one,  purporting  to  have 
been  rendered  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  which  evinces 
such  genuine  devotion  to  crazed  drivelling,  that  we  can 
scarcely  credit  the  fact  that  the  work  is  from  a  source 
of  unquestioned  erudition.  The  piece  is  entitled  "  The 
Grave,"  and  to  satisfy  the  reader  that  we  have  not 
been  unjustly  harsh,  we  shall  quote,  as  amply  sufficient 
to  answer  the  purpose,  the  two  first  stanzas,  premising 
that  we  are  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  measure : 

*'  For  thee  was  a  house  built, 
Ere  thou  wast  born  ; 
For  thee  was  a  mould  meant, 
Ere  thou  of  mother  earnest. 
But  it  is  not  made  ready, 
Nor  its  depth  measured, 
Nor  is  it  seen 
How  long  it  shall  be. 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  343 

Now  I  bring  thee 
Where  thou  shalt  be  : 
Now  I  snail  measure  thee, 
And  the  mould  afterwards. 

"  Thy  house  is  not 
Highly  timbered, 
It  is  unhigJi  and  low ; 
When  thou  art  therein, 
The  heel-ways  are  low, 
The  side-ways  urittigh. 
The  roof  is  built 
Thy  breast  full  nigh, 
So  thou  shalt  in  mould 
Dwell  full  cold, 
Dimly  and  dark," 

We  think  the  reader  will  agree  with  us  that  this 
can  be  called  nothing  else  than  gibberish — a  sort  of 
jabbering  incantation,  that  makes  one  involuntarily 
couple  with  the  most  solemn  of  subjects  a  feeling  of 
ridicule.  But  turning  over  some  few  pages,  we  find 
that  such  is  not  alone  confined  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  min- 
strelsy; for  Mr.  Longfellow  has  eviscerated  its  mate 
from  a  relict  of  German  poetry,  attributed  in  the  orig- 
inal to  Klopstock.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  for  the  memory 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller,  that  the  American  version  is 
not  literal ;  for,  although  the  Italy  of  Horace  and  Vir- 
gil produced  also  a  Bavius  and  Maevius,  we  yet  hope 
that,  in  this  enlightened  age,  the  same  soil  has  not  pro- 
duced the  author  of  such  strains  along  with  the  venera- 
ted fathers  of  German  song.  The  title  of  the  poem  is 
"  The  Dead,"  and  we  quote  it  entire,  as  follows : 

"  How  they  so  softly  rest, 
All,  all  the  holy  dead, 
Unto  whose  dwelling-place 
Now  doth  my  soul  draw  near ! 


344  LONGFELLOW'S    POEMS. 

How  they  so  softly  rest 
All  in  their  silent  graves, 
Deep  to  corruption 
Slowly  down — sinking! 

"  And  they  no  longer  weep, 
Here,  where  complaint  is  still ! 
And  they  no  longer  feel, 
Here,  where  all  gladness  flies ! 
And,  by  the  cypresses 
Softly  o'ershadowed, 
Until  the  Angel 
Calls  them,  they  slumber." 

We  are  really  no  little  astonished  that  this  learned 
gentleman  should  thus  audaciously  venture  to  trifle  and 
dally  with  the  patience  of  partial  readers.  American 
literature  will  never  be  reared  on  a  dignified  and  solid 
basis,  if  its  votaries  be  too  amiably  indulged  with  such 
idle  flippancies,  and  allowed  thus,  with  impunity,  to  in- 
corporate as  poetry  the  merest  balderdash,  having  not 
the  faintest  approach  to  either  sense  or  harmony.  And 
while  we  are  willing  to  recognize  Mr.  Longfellow  as,  in 
many  respects,  a  worthy  representative  of  our  dawning 
national  literature,  we,  at  the  same  time,  must  seriously 
protest  against  that  increasing  leniency  which  suffers 
him  quietly  to  excavate  or  invent  nonsense  only  to 
swell  out  a  volume  intended  to  be  shelved  as  a  specimen 
of  American  poetry. 

The  Translations  are  succeeded  by  the  Ballads. 
That  of  the  "  Skeleton  in  Armor "  is  well  conceived, 
and  is  not  altogether  without  either  merit  or  extrinsic 
interest.  It  is  founded  on  the  fact  that,  some  years 
ago,  a  skeleton  was  disinterred  near  Newport,  clad  in 
broken  and  corroded  armor.  The  author  has  connected 
this  with  an  antiquated  Danish  structure  near  by,  and 
framed  quite  a  legend  out  of  the  materials  thus  afford- 
ed; which,  however,  we  regret  he  did  not  choose 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  345 

to  tell  otherwise  than  in  verse.  But  the  "  Wreck  of 
the  Hesperus,"  although  very  tame  and  commonplace 
now  and  then,  is  yet,  we  think,  much  the  best  of  the 
series,  and  partakes  strongly  of  the  genuine  ballad  tone 
throughout.  To  justify  ourselves  with  both  the  author 
and  the  reader,  we  shall  venture  on  quoting  the  entire 
poem,  leaving  clear  thus  every  chance  to  confirm  or  to 
refute  the  correctness  and  justice  of  the  judgment  we 
have  meted  out  to  it : 

"  It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 
That  sailed  the  wintry  sea ; 
And  the  skipper  had  taken  his  little  daughter 
To  bear  him  company. 

"  Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

"  The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm, 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 
The  smoke  now  west,  now  south. 

"  Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor, 
Had  sailed  the  Spanish  main  : 
*  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  '  Last  night  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring, 

And  to-night  no  moon  we  see ! ' 
The  skipper,  he  blew  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

"  Colder  and  louder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  north-east ; 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine, 
And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

"  Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 

The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 
She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 
Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 
15* 


346  LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS. 

"  '  Come  hither !  come  hither !  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 
That  ever  wind  did  blow.' 

"  He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat, 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 
And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  *  O  father !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring; 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  ' 
*  Tis  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast ! ' 
And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"'0  father !  I  hear  the  sound  of  guns ; 

0  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  ' 
'  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 
In  such  an  angry  sea ! ' 

"  '  0  father !  I  see  a  gleaming  light ; 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  ' 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 
A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

"  Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 

With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies, 
The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 

"  Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be ; 

And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  waves 
On  the  lake  of  Galilee. 

'  And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear 

Through  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 
Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Towards  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe. 

"  And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  trampling  surf, 
On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  347 

"  The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck, 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew, 
Like  icicles,  from  her  deck. 

"  She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  wave's 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side, 
Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

"  Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 

With  the  masts  went  by  the  board ; 
Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank : 
Ho !  ho !  the  breakers  roared ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

"  The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast. 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 
On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

"  Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  wreck  like  this, 
On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! " 

A  few  pages  further  on,  Mr.  Longfellow  favors  us 
with  another  and  more  distinctly  marked  specimen  of 
that  outlandish  metre  with  which  his  book  abounds. 
What  earthly  motive  can  prompt  him  to  turn  off  as 
poetry  such  miserable,  prolix,  drawling  stuff,  we  cannot 
imagine ;  nor  are  we,  or,  we  suppose,  any  other  mortal 
man,  able  to  understand  the  bent  of  a  taste  which, 
although  highly  cultivated  in  some  respects,  can  coolly 
go  to  work  and  disentomb  from  a  Swedish  literary 
charnel-ground  so  despicable  a  production  as  "The 
Children  of  the  Lord's  Supper."  We  venture  the  as- 
sertion that  no  ordinary  reader  can  extract  from  it  the 


348  LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS. 

first  novel  or  interesting  thought,  the  first  pretty  ex- 
pression, the  first  engaging  sentiment,  the  first  approach 
to  any  thing  like  poetry.  It  is  tasteless,  tedious,  and 
trifling,  from  beginning  to  end — leaving  the  mind  un 
impressed  but  with  disgust,  or  with  wonder  that  such 
flippant  jargon  should  ever  have  been  revivified. 

The  piece  purports  to  be  translated  from  the  Swed- 
ish of  some  prelatical  diatribist,  whose  mind,  we  should 
imagine,  was  about  as  barren  of  poetical  impulse  as  the 
bleak  hills  and  ungenial  soil  of  his  native  land  are  of 
aught  that  contributes  to  the  sustenance  of  life.  We 
shall  subjoin  a  few  lines  by  way  of  example : 

"  Lo  !  there  entered  then  into  the  church  the  Reverend  Teacher. 
Father  he  hight  and  he  was  in  the  parish ;  a  Christianly  plainness 
Clothed  from  his  head  to  his  feet  the  old  man  of  seventy  winters. 
Friendly  was  he  to  behold,  and  glad  as  the  heralding  angel 
Walked  he  among  the  crowds,  but  still  a  contemplative  grandeur 
Lay  on  his  forehead  as  clear,  as  an  moss-covered  grave-stone  a  sunbeam. 
As  in  his  inspiration  (an  evening  twilight  that  faintly 
Gleams  in  the  human  soul,  even  now,  from  the  day  of  creation) 
Th'  Artist,  the  friend  of  heaven,  imagines   Saint  John  when  in 

Patmos, 

Gray,  with  his  eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  so  seemed  then  the  old  man  ; 
Such  was  the  glance  of  his  eye,  and  such  were  his  tresses  of  silver. 
All  the  congregation  arose  in  the  pews  that  were  numbered, 
But  with  a  cordial  look,  to  the  right  and  the  left  hand,  the  old  man, 
Nodding  all  hail  and  peace,  disappeared  in  the  innermost  chancel." 

Such  is  the  stale,  puling  verbality  which  Mr.  Long- 
fellow adopts,  and  attempts  to  put  upon  his  readers  as 
poetry.  We  protest.  It  is  by  no  means  our  disposi- 
tion or  intention  to  abet  that  silly  furor  which  seems  to 
possess  many  who,  ascribing  to  this  author  all  the  quali- 
ties of  a  poet,  witlessly  admit  as  poetry  that  which  is 
not  even  receivable  as  good  prose.  Without  pausing, 
however,  to  dwell  on  the  general  imperfections  of  the 
lines  we  have  quoted  from  this  effusion,  we  shall  only 


LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  349 

notice  those  which  the  reader  will  have  remarked  are 
specially  italicised.  We  should  think  Mr.  Longfellow 
might  be  puzzled  to  reconcile  a  similitude  of  the  kind 
above  marked.  If  "  contemplative  grandeur  "  lay  on 
the  old  preacher's  head  no  clearer  than  a  "  sunbeam  " 
on  a  "  moss-covered  gravestone,"  we  are  of  the  opinion 
that  the  sign  was  not  very  distinctly  impressed ;  for,  of 
all  sheltering  in  the  world,  a  thick  cover  of  moss  is  the 
most  impenetrable.  This,  however,  is  about  on  a  par 
with  the  very  tame  description  of  the  old  man's  en- 
trance into  the  church,  where  the  author  is  so  hard  run 
for  the  wherewith  to  fill  out  his  line,  that  he  obligingly 
acquaints  us  with  the  fact  that  the  pews  were  "  num- 
bered," leaving  it  somewhat  doubtful,  by  the  way, 
whether  we  shall  infer  this  mere  fact  from  the  expres- 
sion, or  whether  he  intends  to  convey  that  it  was  only 
that  part  of  the  "  congregation  "  which  sat  in  "  num- 
bered pews,"  that  had  the  good  manners  to  rise  when 
the  pastor  entered. 

If  Mr.  Longfellow  does  sincerely  and  really  set  any 
store  by  this  flat  portraiture  of  a  village  pastor,  it  is  to 
be  lamented  that  his  taste  is  so  low  as  not  to  have  been 
frightened  by  the  contrast  with  that  most  lovely  and 
inimitable  picture  of  the  same  personage  found  in  Gold- 
smith's "Deserted  Village."  To  enable  the  reader 
readily  to  mark  the  difference  betwixt  poetry  and  its 
counterfeit,  we  take  the  liberty,  to  save  reference,  of 
copying  a  few  lines  from  that  beautiful  and  admired 
poem : 

"  Near  yonder  copse,  where  once  the  garden  smil'd, 
And  still  where  many  a  garden  flower  grows  wild ; 
There,  where  a  few  torn  shrubs  the  place  disclose, 
The  village  preacher's  modest  mansion  rose. 
A  man  he  was  to  all  the  country  dear, 
And  passing  rich  with  forty  pounds  a  year ; 


350  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

Remote  from  towns  he  ran  his  godly  race, 

Nor  e'er  had  chang'd,  nor  wished  to  change  his  place  ; 

Unskilful  he  to  fawn,  or  seek  for  power, 

By  doctrines  fashioned  to  the  varying  hour ; 

Far  other  aims  his  heart  had  learned  to  prize, 

More  bent  to  raise  the  wretched  than  to  rise. 


Thus  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his  pride, 

And  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side ; 

But  in  his  duty  prompt  at  every  call, 

He  watched,  and  wept,  he  pray'd  and  felt  for  all ; 

And,  as  a  bird  each  fond  endearment  tries, 

To  tempt  its  new-fledged  offspring  to  the  skies, 

He  tried  each  art,  reprov'd  each  dull  delay, 

Allured  to  brighter  worlds,  and  led  the  way. 

******* 
At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorn'd  the  venerable  place ; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevail'd  with  double  sway, 
And  fools,  who  came  to  scoff,  remained  to  pray. 
The  service  pass'd,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal,  each  honest  rustic  ran ; 
E'en  children  follow'd  with  endearing  wile, 
And  pluck'd  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  express'd, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distressed ; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 

We  delight,  as  doubtless  does  the  reader,  to  glide 
lingeringly  along  with  soft,  melodious  cadences  like 
the  above,  and  while  nestling  in  the  music  of  smooth- 
flowing  words,  to  float  placidly  down  the  limpid  current 
of  these  genial  and  inspiring  sentiments.  We  will  not 
be  cruel  and  unamvable  enough  to  invite  a  too  strict 


•    LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.  351 

comparison  with  Mr.  Longfellow's  unhappy  attempt  to 
draw  a  like  picture. 

What  shall  we  say  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  poems  on 
slavery  ?  Here,  too,  he  is  treading  in  the  footsteps  of 
a  most  illustrious  predecessor — putting  forth  a  feeble 
effort  to  share  the  laurels  of  Montgomery.  Perhaps,  if 
we  were  mischievously  inclined,  we  might  here  cite, 
alongside  the  modest  name  of  our  author,  that  of  quite 
a  noted  competitor  in  the  same  race.  It  must  not  be 
forgotten,  especially  in  sunny  climes,  that  a  lately 
Americanized  writer,  not  content  to  rest  on  the  achieve- 
ments of  his  "  Richelieu  "  and  his  "  Gipsey,"  would  fain 
essay  a  rhyming  tilt  in  the  very  sentimental  tournament 
where  Montgomery  had  flashed  his  maiden  sword.  Mr. 
Longfellow  may,  we  think,  well  afford  to  congratulate 
himself  that  he  is  thus  shielded  by  so  redoubtable  an 
exemplar  in  the  lists  of  flimsy  imitation. 

The  slavery  poems  are  prefaced  with  a  somewhat 
pompous,  serene-tempered  note,  telling  us  that  they 
were  written  while  at  sea ;  and  that  the  first  verses,  ad- 
dressed to  Dr.  Charming,  who  had  just  written  his  book 
about  slavery,  were  no  longer  appropriate,  since  the 
death  of  that  eminent  gentleman.  Being  thus  spe- 
ciously charged,  we  were,  quite  naturally,  as  one  may 
imagine,  very  considerably  impressed  as  to  the  charac- 
ter of  the  production  about  to  be  read.  The  opening 
stanza,  however,  brought  us,  very  unwelcomely,  down 
several  steps : 

"  The  pages  of  thy  book  I  read, 

And  as  I  closed  each  one, 
My  heart,  responding,  ever  said, 
« Servant  of  God,  well  done ! '  " 

To  say  the  least,  this  was  coming  at  his  subject  in 
quite  a  point-Wank,  somewhat  too  unpoetical  manner ; 


352  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS.    • 

though  we  doubt  not  that  its  benediction  would  have 
been  very  encouraging  to  Dr.  Channing,  had  he  been 
alive  to  see  and  read  it.  There  is  besides  in  its  tone  a 
positiveness,  an  abruptness,  which  is  always  inelegant 
and  ungraceful  in  metrical  composition. 

We  have  next  quite  a  spiteful  ebullition  of  rhyth- 
mical invective : 

"  Go  on,  untill  this  land  revokes 

The  old  and  chartered  Lie, 
The  feudal  curse,  whose  whips  and  yokes 
Insult  humanity." 

There  is,  if  we  do  not  greatly  misjudge,  something 
else  than  mere  poetical  sentiment  involved  in  this  fierce 
denunciation,  to  which  some,  who  live  in  parts  of  "  this 
land,"  might  quite  reasonably  object.  Indeed,  we  are 
not  so  sure  but  that  these  lines  to  Dr.  Channing  might 
come  within  the  meaning  of  certain  laws  enacted  by 
States  of  this  Union  to  prevent  the  circulation  of  cer- 
tain mischievous  documents.  There  is,  at  least,  more 
of  feeling  in  its  tone  and  expression  than  prudence 
might  warrant ;  and  because  Mr.  Longfellow  chooses 
to  come  among  us  as  a  votary  of  Apollo,  we  are  not 
therefore  estopped  from  guarding  against  the  bad  ten- 
dencies of  his  poetry.  But  we  are  loath  to  believe  that 
any  mischievous  effect  was  intended ;  and  though  we 
might  have  been  better  pleased  to  have  found  his  book 
prudently  retrenched  of  this  one  poem,  we  desire  not 
to  be  understood  as  endeavoring  to  affix  any  improper 
motive  on  so  amiable  a  writer. 

"  The  Slave's  Dream  "  is  prettily  conceived,  but  in 
view  of  so  prolific  and  suggestive  a  subject,  very  indif- 
ferently and  tamely  executed.  There  is,  however, 
much  of  genuine  spirit  in  some  of  the  stanzas,  as,  for 
instance,  the  following : 


LONGTPELLOW'S    POEMS.  353 

"  Wide  through  the  landscape  of  his  dreams, 

The  lordly  Niger  flowed ; 
Beneath  the  palm-trees  on  the  plain, 

Once  more  a  king  he  strode, 
And  heard  the  tinkling  caravans 

Descend  the  mountain  road." 

We  cannot  dwell  on  each  poem  of  the  series ;  but 
passing  over  much  fanciful  and  silly  jeremiading,  we 
pause  a  moment  or  two  to  notice  the  one  called  "  The 
Witnesses."  Montgomery,  in  his  celebrated  poem  of 
the  "West  Indies,"  has  the  following  eloquent  and 
stirring  lines,  in  speaking  of  sunken  slave-ships : 

"  When  the  loud  trumpet  of  eternal  doom 
Shall  break  the  mortal  bondage  of  the  tomb ; 
When  with  a  mother's  pangs  the  expiring  earth 
Shall  bring  her  children  forth  to  second  birth ; 
Then  shall  the  sea's  mysterious  caverns,  spread 
With  human  relics,  render  up  their  dead : 
Though  warm  with  life  the  heaving  surges  glow, 
Where'er  the  winds  of  heaven  were  wont  to  blow, 
In  sevenfold  phalanx  shall  the  rallying  hosts 
Of  ocean  slumberers  join  their  wandering  ghosts, 
Along  the  melancholy  gulf  that  roars 
From  Guinea  to  the  Caribbean  shores. 
Myriads  of  slaves,  that  perished  on  the  way, 
From  age  to  age,  the  shark's  appointed  prey 
By  livid  plagues,  by  lingering  tortures  slain, 
Or  headlong  plunged  alive  into  the  main, 
Shall  rise  in  judgment  from  their  gloomy  beds, 
To  call  down  vengeance  on  the  murderers'  heads." 

Now  for  Mr.  Longfellow,  as  he  essays  to  attune  his 
lyre  to  similar  lofty  strains  : 

"  In  ocean's  wide  domains, 

Half  buried  in  the  sands, 
Lie  skeletons  in  chains, 

With  shackled  feet  and  hands. 


354  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

"  Beyond  the  fall  of  dews, 

Deeper  than  plummet  lies, 
Float  ships,  with  all  their  crews, 
No  more  to  sink  nor  rise. 

"  There  the  black  slave-ship  sioims, 

Freighted  with  human  forms, 
Whose  fettered,  fleshless  limbs, 
Are  not  the  sport  of  storms. 

"  These  are  the  bones  of  slaves ; 
They  gleam  from  the  abyss ; 
They  cry  from  yawning  waves, 
'  We  are  the  witnesses ! '  " 

We  shall  not  sport  with  Mr.  Longfellow  or  his  ad- 
mirers by  invoking  a  comparison  at  this  point ;  but  we 
will  say  that  he  must  possess  a  goodly  share  of  courage 
or  of  self-esteem,  to  put  forth  suck  lines  in  the  very  face 
of  those  we  have  quoted  from  Montgomery,  and  from 
which,  doubtless,  the  idea  of  "  The  Witnesses  "  was  un- 
guardedly borrowed.  But,  apart  from  comparison,  we 
are  seriously  bothered  to  make  sense  of  Mr.  Longfel- 
low's expressions  and  references ;  for  who  on  earth  can 
possibly  understand  how  ships  can  "  float "  in  an  ethe- 
real element,  "beyond  the  fall  of  dews," — "deeper 
than  plummet  lies,"  and  where  they  can  "  no  more  sink 
nor  rise."  This,  we  think,  all  will  conceive,  is  truly  in- 
comprehensible. It  brings  to  mind  an  anecdote  quite 
apropos,  which  may,  perhaps,  afford  Mr.  Longfellow 
some  defence  for  his  senseless  paragraphs,  on  the  score 
of  precedent. 

The  great  Edinburgh  publisher,  Constable,  while 
reading  over  a  manuscript  poem  by  the  "  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd," which  had  been  submitted  to  him,  tartly  ob- 
served, on  reaching  some  obscure  sentence,  "  Deil's  in 
it ;  but  I  canna  tell  what  you  mean  by  this ! "  To 
which  Hogg  artlessly  replied,  "  Hout,  tout,  man,  that 


LONGFELLOW'S   POEMS.  355 

is  na  strange,  for  I  dinna  ken,  sometimes,  what  I  mean 
mysel' ! " 

The  poem  of  "  Evangeline,"  in  the  second  volume, 
is  most  excessively  dull,  stiff,  and  tiresome.  We  can- 
not say  one  word  in  its  favor,  and  only  wonder  how  a 
reader  can  beat  his  way  through  its  long  succession  of 
prosing  lines — lines  much  more  apt  to  induce  a  com- 
fortable siesta  than  to  excite  admiration.  It  is  the 
lengthiest  production  of  the  two  volumes,  except  per- 
haps the  Spanish  Student,  and  is  composed  to  the  same 
mumbling,  unmeaning  measure  as  "  the  Children  of  the 
Lord's  Supper,"  while  it  is,  if  possible,  even  more  bar- 
ren of  ideality.  We  cannot  get  our  consent  to  tran- 
scribe any  portion  of  it,  lest  we  might  by  such  repeated 
intrusions  effectually  worry  out  the  reader's  patience. 
ISTor  can  we  so  reconcile  it  with  our  present  undertak- 
ing as  to  dwell  any  longer  on  the  second  volume.  It 
is  of  like  sort  with  the  first ;  perhaps,  if  there  be  any 
difference  at  all,  even  less  creditable  to  the  author. 

We  shall  close  our  notice  of*  Mr.  Longfellow  by  re- 
marking very  briefly  on  the  "  Spanish  Student."  This, 
in  our  opinion,  is  a  work  of  much  intrinsic  worth,  and 
evinces  talent  of  a  high  order.  It  is  piquant,  racy,  full 
of  spirit  and  vivacity,  and  contains  much  pretty  com- 
position— never  rising,  perhaps,  into  the  powerful,  yet 
never  falling  into  the  commonplace.  The  plot  is  quite 
artistically  conceived,  and  the  dramatic  features  are 
fully  developed  and  well  delineated.  The  character  of 
Preciosa  is  most  gracefully  and  handsomely  drawn; 
and  Crispa  is  not,  in  her  department,  less  happily  por- 
trayed; while  Victorian  and  his  rival  bring  out  the 
full  contrast  of  right  and  wrong.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  our  author  was  not  content  to  rest  his  ambition 
with  this  achievement,  and  that  he  could  not  have 
reconciled  it  to  himself  to  leave  out  of  his  book  all 


356  LONGFELLOW'S  POEMS. 

else  but  this  single  production — looking  for  a  perma- 
nent fame  more  to  those  works  by  which  he  doubt- 
less sets  far  less  store.  In  fine,  it  is  quite  grateful  and 
refreshing,  after  having  found  so  much  fault  with  Mr. 
Longfellow,  though  justly  so,  as  we  think,  that  we  are 
enabled  thus  to  bid  him  so  kindly  a  farewell. 


SLAVERY  AND   THE    SLAVE  TRADE    IN 
THE  DISTRICT  OF  COLUMBIA. 

DIGRESSION  and  irrelevancy  in  the  discussion  of  po- 
litical issues  are  characteristic  of  American  writers  and 
speakers.  In  Congress,  especially,  debate  is  rarely  con- 
fined to  the  question  under  consideration.  Collateral 
points  even,  which,  in  an  assembly  collected  of  wisdom, 
true  taste  would  warn  us  to  leave  to  inference  mainly, 
fail  to  afford  scope  sufficiently  ample.  Matters  totally 
disconnected  with  those  at  issue,  are  tortuously  intro- 
duced to  make  up  the  speech.  Hence,  on  a  memorable 
occasion  in  the  Senate,  Mr.  Webster  found  it  necessary, 
in  order  to  be  properly  understood,  to  commence  his 
celebrated  speech  on  Foot's  Resolution,  in  reply  to  Mr. 
Haynes,  by  requesting  the  Secretary  to  read  the  reso- 
lution under  discussion.  Every  body  recollects  the 
beautiful  and  appropriate  figure  of  the  mariner  tossed 
about  for  days  in  the  open  seas  without  chart  or  com- 
pass, by  which  he  illustrated  the  digression.  This  hap- 
pened more  than  twenty  years  ago,  when,  it  may  be 
supposed,  demagoguic  influences  were  less  common 
than  at  this  day.  And,  indeed,  if  a  speaker  were  to 
rise  in  his  seat,  now-a-days,  and  deliver  a  speech  of 
twenty  or  thirty  minutes  length,  confined  solely  to  the 
topic  of  debate,  without  once  calling  to  his  aid  irrele- 


358  SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE  TRADE. 

vant  party  issues,  he  would  be  stigmatized  by  reporters 
and  lobby  members  as  empty-headed  and  stupid.  Dis- 
cursive and  inappropriate  discussion  has  grown  so  com- 
mon, that  it  may  now  be  regarded  as  a  settled  prece- 
dent in  Congressional  economy. 

No  more  cogent  illustration  of  the  truth  and  justice 
of  the  above  general  remarks  may  be  cited,  than  the 
history  of  the  debates  in  Congress  on  the  Wilmot  Pro- 
viso. A  discussion  of  the  power  of  Congress  to  pro- 
hibit or  regulate  slavery  in  the  Territories  of  the  Unit- 
ed States  has  opened,  in  the  course  of  the  debate,  the 
entire  question  of  slavery,  in  all  its  points,  and  placed 
it  in  every  conceivable  attitude.  Prominent  among 
these  irrelevant  issues  is  one  of  very  startling  moment, 
not  because  of  its  complexity  or  obscurity,  but  because 
of  the  petty  and  contemptible  jealousy  which  pervades 
both  sections  of  the  Union  concerning  its  permanent 
adjustment.  It  will,  of  course,  be  inferred  that  we  al- 
lude to  that  of  the  powers  of  Congress  over  slaves  and 
the  subject  of  slavery  within  the  District  of  Columbia. 
On  this  point,  all  candid  and  discriminating  minds  must 
admit  that,  in  discussing  the  question,  the  South  has 
claimed  more  than  is  just  and  constitutional,  and  that 
the  North  has  chosen  an  ill  time  and  showed  an  im- 
proper and  intolerant  spirit  in  asserting  and  claiming 
what  is  doubtless  just  and  constitutional.  We  cannot 
think  that  true  patriotism  or  devotion  to  right  and 
justice,  have  had  any  influence  with  the  majority  in  the 
introduction  or  discussion  of  this  subject.  The  govern- 
ing influences,  in  both  cases,  we  fear,  have  been  of  a 
different  and  far  less  meritorious  character.  On  the 
side  of  the  North  it  seems  to  be  an  ill-timed  and  un- 
worthy attempt  to  wreak  its  prejudices  upon  an  institu- 
tion which,  to  say  the  least,  is  recognized,  if  not  by 
name,  at  least  de  facto,  and  protected  from  invasion  by 


SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TRADE.  359 

the  federal  constitution.  On  the  part  of  the  South  it 
has  been  an  unwary  and  hazardous  attempt  to  make 
political  capital  at  home  of  a  question  that  embodies 
elements  of  the  most  dangerous  nature,  as  regards  the 
welfare  of  the  Union,  and  to  feed  a  flame,  of  which  the 
calmest  and  most  moderate  politician  may  stand  in 
dread.  But  it  has  been  our  pride  and  pleasure  to  ob- 
serve that,  in  both  sections  of  the  Union,  the  conserva- 
tive national  whig  party,  as  a  body,  has  asserted  and 
maintained  a  course  of  conduct  unquestionably  con- 
servative and  national.  By  moderation  and  dignity, 
by  wisdom  and  true  patriotism,  the  party  has  well  sus- 
tained its  ancient  and  honorable  character. 

In  a  like  spirit,  it  is  trusted,  and  with  a  mind  beset 
on  eliciting  and  expressing  the  truth,  we  now  proceed 
to  present,  in  a  condensed  and  summary  shape,  our 
views  and  opinions.  The  true  opinion,  as  we  conceive, 
may  be  best  arrived  at,  by  first  propounding,  and  then 
endeavoring  to  answer  two  leading  questions ;  which, 
it  is  believed,  embrace  the  entire  matter  of  debate : 

1st.  Has  Congress  the  right,  under  the  Constitu- 
tion of  the  United  States  and  deeds  of  cession  from 
the  States  of  Maryland  and  Virginia,  to  abolish 
slavery  in  the  District  of  Columbia  f 

2d.  Has  Congress  the  right  or  power,  under  the 
same  instruments,  to  pass  laws  of  a  Municipal  or  Po- 
lice character  concerning  slaves,  and  to  regulate  or  pro- 
hibit the  slave  traffic  in  said  District  f 

The  first  of  these  questions  we  do  not  at  all  hesitate 
to  answer  in  the  negative,  and  shall  state  briefly  the 
reason  and  grounds  on  which  that  answer  may  be 
founded. 

The  abolition  of  slavery  in  any  State,  District,  or 
Territory,  within  the  limits  of  the  United  States,  can- 
not be  a  matter  of  legislation,  because  it  involves  rights 


360  SLAVERY  AND  THE   SLAVE  TKADE. 

of  persons  and  of  property  which  existed  previously  to 
the  establishment  of  the  government,  and  which  not 
only  constitute  a  principal  element  in  the  government 
of  all,  but  are  beyond  the  reach  of  legislative  majori- 
ties. The  legislature  of  a  State  ought  not  to  decree 
the  abolition  of  slavery.  It  is  a  body  of  limited  pow- 
ers, limited  and  defined,  too,  by  an  instrument  which 
is  formed  by  the  Sovereign  power  in  convention.  This 
Sovereign  power  is  the  people.  The  legislature  would 
have  no  more  right  or  authority,  unwarranted  or  un- 
empowered  by  any  previous  form  of  assent  from  the 
people,  to  pass  a  law  modifying  the  entire  social  sys- 
tem, than  it  would  have  to  pass  a  law  establishing  or 
abolishing  the  Christian  or  Jewish  form  of  worship,  or 
the  tenures  of  land,  or  the  right  of  self-defence,  or  the 
right  to  bequeath  or  to  inherit.  These  are  all  inherent 
properties  and  elements  of  government,  and  belong, 
under  our  system,  to  that  class  of  powers  and  natural 
rights  which  are  of  none  the  less  force  and  effect  be- 
cause partly  unwritten  and  undefined  in  the  original 
compact,  and  which  are  removed  beyond  the  reach  of 
Assemblies  whose  powers  are  limited  and  differently 
intended.  Slavery,  as  it  exists  in  the  separate  States, 
is  equally  entitled  to  be  thus  classed.  The  power, 
therefore,  abruptly  to  abolish  such  an  institution,  can- 
not belong  to  a  state  or  national  legislature.  It  is  es- 
sentially a  prerogative  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people 
themselves.  It  is  in  the  province  of  a  convention  of 
that  power  from  which  emanates  the  constitutions  both 
of  federal  and  state  governments.  A  contrary  action 
or  decision,  vesting  such  power  either  in  Congress  as 
regards  the  District  of  Columbia,  or  in  any  of  our  State 
legislatures,  would  be  to  create  a  ruinous  instability  in 
property  in  both  instances.  It  would  be  committing 
the  most  cherished  and  sacred  of  all  rights,  namely, 


SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TRADE.  361 

that  of  modifying  the  fundamental  relationship  of  man 
to  man,  to  a  bare  majority  in  Assemblies  notoriously 
impulsive,  and  fluctuating  in  opinion,  and  always  af- 
fected by  local  prejudices,  and  educational  predilec- 
tions. It  would  be  placing  individuals  and  entire  com- 
munities at  the  mercy  of  partisans  and  fanatics,  of  op- 
posite opinions,  looking  neither  to  justice  nor  reason  nor 
to  any  thing  beyond  their  own  ambitious  aims  and  vio- 
lent purposes. 

The  second  question  must  be  regarded  by  all  candid 
and  dispassionate  persons  in  a  widely-different  sense, 
inasmuch  that  it  involves  matters  and  issues  of  a  very 
different  character,  and  which  are  totally  irrelevant  to 
the  first. 

We  hold  that  the  powers  of  Congress,  as  concerns 
the  subject  of  regulating  slavery  in  the  District  of  Co- 
lumbia, are  not  at  all  analogous  to  the  powers  of  the 
same  body  as  applied  to  the  Territories  of  the  United 
States.  Conceding  the  power  in  the  one  case  does  not 
and  cannot  necessarily  embrace  the  other.  In  the  first, 
the  power  is  explicitly  given,  and  is  clearly  derivable 
from  all  the  sources  where  it  ever  belonged  in  law.  In 
the  last  it  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  bond,  compact,  or 
conveyance  of  any  description,  and  must  be  left  to 
vague  inference,  and  ever  remain  an  obscure  and  vexed 
question. 

The  power  to  regulate  the  slave  traffic  in  any  or  in 
all  its  branches,  (save  one,  perhaps,)  is  a  matter  en- 
tirely of  police,  and  belongs  properly  to  legislative 
bodies  in  their  capacity  of  police  conservators.  Even 
in  our  State  legislatures  a  wide  discretion  is  claimed 
and  often  exercised  on  this  subject.  But  no  one  who 
takes  the  trouble  to  examine  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  defining  the  special  powers  of  Congress, 
or  the  deeds  of  cession  from  the  States  of  Maryland 
16 


362  SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TKADE. 

and  Virginia,  can  justly  or  successfully  question  the 
unlimited  discretion  of  Congress  concerning  all  police 
regulations  of  slavery  within  the  District  of  Columbia. 
The  ten  miles  square  is  ceded  not  to  the  United  States, 
as  are  the  territories,  but  to  the  "  Congress  and  Gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States."  Where  territories 
have  been  relinquished  by  any  of  the  States,  or  ac- 
quired by  purchase,  the  conveyance  has  ever  been  to 
the  United  States  and  for  their  "  benefit,"  and,  in  the 
first  instance,  a  parenthesis  has  always  been  made  "  in- 
cluding "  the  State  which  thus  cedes.  Territories  ac- 
quired by  conquest  are  conveyed  by  treaty  to  the  Gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States,  and  thus  become  the 
property  alike  of  all  the  communities  which  form  that 
government.  In  none  of  these  cessions  is  Congress  a 
specified  party.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  "the  Con- 
gress "  is  a  joint  and  specified  party  with  the  "  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States "  in  the  ownership  of  the 
District  of  Columbia.  Now,  as  all  must  very  well 
understand,  the  Government  of  the  United  States  is 
made  up  of  three  co-ordinate  branches  or  departments, 
each  separately  defined,  and  charged  with  separate  and 
distinct  functions.  Of  these,  Congress  is  only  the  leg- 
islative power — subject  in  its  action,  within  certain 
limits,  to  the  check  of  both  the  Executive  and  Judicial 
departments.  Yet  "  the  Congress  "  is  placed  independ- 
ent of,  and  as  a  joint  and  equal  partner  with  the 
"  Government  of  the  United  States  "  in  the  ownership 
of  the  District,  and  its  majority  is  thus  the  "full  and 
absolute"  arbiter  and  conservator  in  all  legislative 
functions,  excepting  only  in  so  far  as  restrained  by  the 
provisos  and  stipulations  of  the  original  cession. 

This  proposition  may  impress  some  persons  as  being 
rather  outre  and  metaphysical,  if  not  erroneous.  But 
we  venture  to  conceive,  that  when  measured  by  the 


SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TRADE.  363 

sense  and  words  of  the  deed  of  cession  from  Maryland 
and  by  the  same  in  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  the  fair  and  legitimate  inference  will  be  in  favor 
of  its  entire  correctness.  To  this  end  we  deem  it  ad- 
visable to  transcribe  the  said  deed  of  cession  in  full,  as 
well  as  the  language  of  the  Constitution,  concerning 
the  powers  of  Congress  in  the  District  of  Columbia  : 

"Be  it  enacted  by  the  General  Assembly  of  the  State  of  Mary- 
land :  That  all  that  part  of  the  said  territory  called  Columbia,  (as 
described  in  the  previous  section,)  which  lies  within  the  limits  of  this 
State,  shall  be,  and  the  same  is  hereby  acknowledged  to  be  forever 
ceded  and  relinquished  to  the  Congress  and  Government  of  the  United 
States  in  full  and  exclusive  right  and  exclusive  jurisdiction,  as  well  of 
soil  as  of  persons  residing  or  to  reside  thereon,  pursuant  to  the  tenor 
and  effect  of  the  eighth  section  of  the  first  article  of  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States :  Provided  that  nothing  herein  contained  shall  be 
so  construed  as  to  vest  in  the  United  States  any  right  of  property  in 
the  soil,  as  to  effect  the  rights  of  individuals  therein,  otherwise  than 
the  same  shall  be  transferred  by  such  individuals  to  the  United 
States." 

The  italics  in  the  above  are  our  own ;  and  now,  we 
say,  let  that  grant  be  considered  as  it  may,  the  close 
and  candid  reasoner  will  be  forced  to  infer  that  Con- 
gress is  a  separate  and  distinct  party  in  the  transac- 
tion, independent  of  its  co-ordinate  connection  with  the 
Government  of  the  United  States.  The  laws  of  Con- 
gressional majorities,  as  has  been  already  intimated, 
are  subject  both  to  be  vetoed  and  over-ruled  by  the 
other  two  departments,  but  these  last  are  motionless 
until  Congress  shall  first  have  acted.  Being,  therefore, 
an  independent  partner,  as  well  as  a  partner  by  virtue 
of  its  co-ordinate  connection  with  the  Government  of 
the  United  States,  and  being  also  the  active  and  mo- 
tive branch  of  the  Government,  we  safely  conclude 
that  Congress,  thus  doubly  interested,  is  on  rather 
more  than  an  equality  with  the  Government  of  the 


364  SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TRADE. 

United  States  in  the  ownership  of  and  jurisdiction  over 
the  District  of  Columbia,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  main  arbi- 
ter and  conservator  of  its  destiny,  civil  and  political. 
The  difference  between  the  two  propositions  thus  sub- 
mitted, is  simply  this,  viz. :  that  slavery  being  in  ex- 
istence as  a  domestic  institution  within  the  ten  miles 
square  when  Congress  accepted  the  deed  of  cession,  the 
relation  between  master  and  slave  was  distinctly  recog- 
nized ;  Congress  is,  therefore,  fairly  estopped  from 
abolishing  the  institution  without  previously  expressed 
assent  from  the  people,  or  from  passing  any  law  to  de- 
stroy the  right  of  the  owner  in  the  property  of  his 
slave,  as  acknowledged  by  the  acceptance.  But,  in 
the  second  place,  the  power  so  to  regulate  those  rela- 
tions as  to  abridge  or  prohibit  the  general  and  indis- 
criminate traffic  in  slaves,  within  the  limits  of  the  Dis- 
trict, being  essentially  a  matter  of  police  and  legisla- 
tion, and  being  clothed  with  "  full  and  absolute  "  power 
in  legislating  for  said  District,  Congress  has  the  un- 
doubted right  to  interfere  so  as  to  modify  or  abolish 
such  traffic,  and  that  too  without  any  appeal  to  the 
will  or  wishes  of  the  State  Governments. 

But,  continuing  our  argument  on  the  second  propo- 
sition, the  powers  of  Congress  within  the  limits  of  the 
federal  district  are  yet  more  explicitly  defined  than  in 
the  deed  of  cession  above  recited.  The  eighth  section 
of  the  first  article  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  declares :  "  That  Congress  shall  have  power  to 
exercise  exclusive  jurisdiction,  in  all  cases  whatsoever, 
over  such  district  (not  exceeding  ten  miles  square)  as 
may,  by  cession  of  particular  States,  and  by  the  accept- 
ance of  Congress,  become  the  seat  of  Government  of 
the  United  States." 

It  must  be  admitted,  we  think,  that  this,  literally, 
is  a  sweeping  clause.  It  could  not  well  have  been 


SLAVERY   AND  THE   SLAVE  TRADE.  365 

framed  so  as  to  convey  larger  powers.  It  is  not  even 
qualified.  It  can  be  limited  only  by  bringing  the  pow- 
ers thus  sweepingly  conferred  to  the  test  of  established 
precedent,  and  natural  or  pre-existing  rights.  In  the 
first  instance,  the  deed  is  "  full  and  absolute ;"  in  the 
second,  the  acceptance  carries  along  with  it,  under  the 
supreme  law  of  the  land,  "exclusive  jurisdiction  in  all 
cases  whatsoever."  It  is,  indeed,  a  clause  in  which  the 
most  biased  and  fastidious  stickler  will  find  little  to 
restrict  the  discretion  of  Congress  in  any  matter  of 
legislation ;  and  that  the  slave  traffic  is  a  matter  of 
legislation  no  intelligent  reader  will  venture  to  deny. 
It  has  been  claimed  as  such,  certainly,  by  every  gov- 
ernment in  which  slavery  has  existed,  ancient  and 
modern.  That  of  Rome,  which  gave  to  the  master  the 
power  even  of  life  and  limb  over  his  slave,  always 
claimed  and  exercised  exclusive  control  over  the  slave 
traffic.  But  it  could  not  destroy,  by  simple  legislative 
majority,  the  relation  between  master  and  slave,  nor 
deprive  the  first  of  the  labor  and  value  of  the  last. 
Greece,  as  a  Government,  was  anxious  to  rid  the  coun- 
try of  the  slavery  of  the  Helots,  long  before  the  body 
of  the  people  were  either  prepared  for,  or  willing  to 
favor  such  riddance.  The  Government,  therefore, 
claimed  and  exercised  the  undeniable  right  of  all  gov- 
ernments to  abridge  and  prohibit  the  indiscriminate 
and  unnatural  traffic  in  the  unfortunate  beings  whom 
she  had  enslaved,  but  it  dared  not,  even  in  that  early 
age,  to  infringe  the  right  of  property  by  destroying  the 
relation  itself.  Russia,  although  a  sombre  and  quiet 
despotism,  where  all  legislative  power  is  lodged  with 
the  Czar,  would  not  venture,  perhaps,  by  a  peremptory 
ukase,  to  abolish  serfdom  within  its  limits ;  yet  the 
slave  traffic  is  entirely  and  most  effectually  prohibited, 
and  the  serfs  go  along  with  the  land  on  which  they 


366  SLAVERY    AND   THE   SLAVE  TRADE. 

were  born,  and  all  their  local  and  family  attachments 
are  sacredly  preserved.  The  rash  and  unjust  exercise 
of  the  first  power,  even  by  the  Autocrat  of  Russia, 
would  kindle  a  flame  of  resentment  that  would  spread 
quickly  from  the  Don  to  the  Vistula,  and  an  insulted 
people  would  bring  down  vengeance  on  even  that 
august  head,  which,  they  believe,  wears  its  crown  by 
divine  right  and  will.  In  the  exercise  of  the  last  pow- 
er, however,  which  is  conformable  both  to  justice  and 
custom,  no  opposition  was  encountered,  and  a  general 
acquiescence  evidenced  its  popularity. 

Under  our  Government  of  sovereign  States  and  de- 
fined powers,  Congress  is  entirely  restricted  from  the 
exercise  of  this  power,  as  concerns  the  States,  but  its 
power  over  the  subject  is  "full  and  absolute,"  when 
applied  to  its  "  exclusive  jurisdiction  "  over  the  District 
of  Columbia.  Neither  Congress,  nor  State  Legisla- 
tures, have  the  power  to  abolish  slavery  within  their 
respective  jurisdictions ;  but  neither  would  be  tran- 
scending their  legitimate  powers,  as  we  humbly  con- 
ceive, to  pass  such  laws  as  could  tend  to  prohibit  indis- 
criminate traffic  in  slaves,  without  regard  to  number  or 
social  relations. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  slaves,  both  under 
the  Federal  and  State  Constitutions,  as  well  as  by  the 
laws  of  each,  are  considered  as  being  something  more 
than  mere  property.  That  they  are  (de  facto)  prop- 
erty, no  one  will  venture  to  gainsay ;  but  they  are  a 
peculiar  species  of  property.  They  are  not  at  all  re- 
garded as  irrational  animals,  or  perishable  live  stock, 
as  horses,  or  swine,  or  cattle.  Some  have  been  weak 
enough  to  urge  and  advocate  this  fallacious  point,  as- 
suming, with  singular  hardihood  and  pertinacity,  that 
which  no  person  of  ordinary  information  will  sanction. 

Slaves  are  regarded,  both  under  the  Constitution 


SLAVERY    AND    THE    SLAVE   TRADE.  367 

and  the  laws,  as  persons  also,  and,  in  some  sense,  as 
members  of  organized  society,  though  certainly  and 
properly  excluded  from  the  dignity  of  citizenship,  and 
from  civil  privileges.  They  are  regularly  apportioned, 
in  accordance  with  the  Federal  Constitution,  (in  the 
true  spirit  of  that  great  American  system  of  protection 
and  encouragement,  which  reaches  and  covers  every 
species  of  labor,  a  system  long  upheld,  and  ardently 
cherished  by  the  conservative  Whig  party  of  the  Union,) 
for  full  representation  in  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States.  They  are  entitled  to  protection,  under  the 
law,  in  life  and  limb,  and  are,  individually,  amenable 
for  any  infractions  of  the  criminal  code.  They  are 
shielded,  by  the  lasv,  from  all  cruel  and  unusual  pun- 
ishments at  the  hands  of  bad  masters.  In  all  these  is 
exhibited  very  clearly  the  wide  distinctions  between 
negroes  transferable,  by  sale,  from  one  master  to  an- 
other, and  all  other  kinds  of  property.  This  view  of 
the  subject  is  very  ably  arid  elaborately  expounded  by 
Mr,  Madison  in  No.  54  of  the  "Federalist."  He  there 
expresses  himself  thus :  "  But  we  must  deny  the  fact 
that  slaves  are  considered  merely  as  property,  and  in 
no  respect  whatever  as  persons.  The  true  state  of  the 
case  is,  that  they  partake  of  both  of  these  characters. 
...  It  is  the  character  bestowed  on  them  by  the  laws 
under  which  they  live  ;  and  it  will  not  be  denied  that 
these  are  the  proper  criterion.  The  slave  is  regarded 
by  the  law  as  a  member  of  society,  not  as  a  part  of  the 
irrational  creation ;  as  a  moral  person,  not  as  a  mere 
article  of  property.  The  Federal  Constitution,  there- 
fore, decides  with  great  propriety  on  the  case,  when  it 
views  them  in  the  mixed  character  of  persons  and  of 
property." 

This  leaves  a  clear  inference  that  an  indiscriminate 
traffic  in  slaves  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  beyond  the 


368  SLAVERY   AND  THE  SLAVE  TRADE, 

reach  of  legal  interference  and  restriction,  or  as  the 
same  with  that  of  horses  and  cattle.  Congress  may 
not  possess  the  power  to  abolish  slave  dealing  in  all  its 
branches,  but  it  does  not  follow  from  this  that  the 
right  to  regulate  and  restrict  the  trade  is  prohibited. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  is  clearly  within  the  legitimate 
province  of  Congress  to  do  so,  pro\dded  no  legislative 
steps  are  taken  to  infringe  the  rights  of  resident  own- 
ers in  the  property  of  their  slaves.  Congress,  however, 
under  the  deeds  of  cession,  is  restricted,  on  this  sub- 
ject, only  as  regards  resident  owners.  In  the  case  of 
transient  persons  and  traders,  an  arbitrary  and  perverse 
stretch  of  power  might  easily  give  a  different  aspect  to 
these  relations. 

We  feel  assured  that  no  one  will  deny  the  power 
of  Congress  to  prohibit  a  banking  company  from  New 
York  or  Delaware  from  establishing  a  bank  within  the 
limits  of  the  District,  either  by  positive  enactment  to 
that  effect,  or  by  refusing  them  a  corporate  existence. 
How,  then,  can  it  be  denied  that  the  same  body  has 
the  same  sort  of  power  to  interdict  a  slave  dealer  from 
Maryland  or  Virginia  from  carrying  on  his  odious  traf- 
fic within  the  same  limits  ?  Or  how,  under  the  Consti- 
tution and  law,  can  Congress  be  denied  the  authority 
and  right  to  interfere  even  so  far  as  to  regulate  or  re- 
strict the  trade  as  between  resident  owners  themselves  ? 
It  must  be  remembered  that,  unlike  any  other  legisla- 
tive assembly  in  the  Union,  Congress  possesses  here 
"full  and  absolute"  power,  and  that  its  "jurisdiction" 
within  the  District  limits  is  not  only  independent  and 
unqualified,  but  "  exclusive  in  all  cases  whatsoever." 
There  is  nothing  in  the  Federal  Constitution  to  pro- 
hibit the  abolition  of  the  institution  by  Congress,  be- 
yond the  right  of  all  citizens  to  claim  protection  for  his 
property.  Still  less  is  there  to  be  found  any  clause  or 


SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TEADE.  369 

enactment  denying  the  right  to  abridge  and  restrict 
the  traffic.  Neither  are  such  prohibitory  or  restrictive 
clauses  to  be  found  in  the  deeds  of  cession,  for  in  these, 
except  only  as  relates  to  owners  of  "  soil,"  the  power 
of  Congress  is  totally  unlimited.  It  is  even  a  question, 
in  view  of  the  broad  and  unqualified  powers  thus  con- 
ferred on  the  Congress  within  the  District  limits  both 
by  the  Constitution  and  the  deeds,  whether  the  right 
to  prohibit  the  trade  in  all  its  features  can  be  success- 
fully confuted  or  denied  ?  But  thus  far  we  do  not  pre- 
tend to  go  in  this  article. 

But  there  are  other  views  in  which  this  subject  may 
be  argued.  The  ten  miles  square  must  be  considered 
as  belonging  exclusively  to  the  "  Congress  and  Gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States,"  and  not,  as  do  the  Ter- 
ritories, to  the  United  States,  over  which  Congress 
can  only  exercise  trust  powers.  Against  any  improper 
or  unequal,  or  discriminating,  legislation  by  Congress 
as  concerns  the  last,  the  States  would  have  a  right  to 
protest.  But  as  concerns  legislation  by  Congress  within 
the  District,  they  are  estopped.  Resolutions,  intro- 
duced before  Congress,  and  intended  to  do  away  with 
the  slave  trade  in  the  said  District,  are  nothing  to  us 
of  the  South,  in  the  capacity  of  States.  We  are  un- 
willing to  admit  that  our  right  of  self-regulation  can  be 
thus  endangered.  We  should  as  soon  think  of  fearing 
the  effects  of  the  recent  emancipation  in  the  French 
West  Indies :  and  wTe  have  about  as  much  right  to  pro- 
test in  the  last  case  as  in  the  first.  On  the  contrary, 
we  incline  to  believe  that  the  interference  by  Congress 
with  the  slave  trade  in  the  District  would  result  bene- 
ficially to  the  negro  slave  in  the  States.  If  the  traffic 
was  prohibited  there,  and  those  loathsome  and  disgust- 
ing depots  of  degraded  and  distressed  humanity  were 
effectually  broken  up  within  the  District  limits,  it  would 
16* 


370  SLAVERY   AND  THE  SLAVE  TRADE. 

force  the  Southern  slaveholding  States  to  protect  them- 
selves by  adopting  similar  laws,  or  else  their  soil  would 
be  flooded  with  an  inundation  of  traders  with  their 
long,  thick  gangs  of  wretched  creatures,  hurried  to 
market  to  avoid  total  losses.  There  is  no  telling  what 
would  be  the  consequences,  if,  in  the  event  of  such  law 
passed  by  Congress,  the  slaveholding  States  should  fail 
to  adopt  similar  laws.  The  wanton  cruelties  and  re- 
volting barbarities  of  the  British  West  Indies  would 
speedily  be  re-enacted  in  a  region  where  quiet,  and 
content,  and  jolly  cheerfulness  prevail  among  white 
and  black.  The  land  would  swarm  with  hordes  of 
sullen  and  desperate  creatures,  torn  suddenly  from 
home  and  from  family,  and  ready  for  any  act  of  mas- 
sacre, or  for  any  kind  of  death.  The  whites,  driven  to 
fury  by  the  fall  of  property,  and  by  this  repulsive  in- 
novation of  their  domestic  arrangements,  would  soon 
grow  discontented ;  the  better  and  more  polished  por- 
tion would  endeavor  to  leave  the  State ;  and  anarchy 
more  appalling  than  ever  before  exampled,  would  then 
become  the  order  of  the  day.  But  would  the  Southern 
States  fail,  in  such  event,  to  pass  such  laws  ?  We  haz- 
ard little  in  saying  that  they  would  not.  They  value 
their  homes,  their  property,  and  their  domestic  associ- 
ation far  too  highly,  thus  unwarily  to  jeopardize  the 
peace  and  security  of  all.  In  Mississippi,  especially, 
opinion  is  even  now  rife  for  the  passage  of  such  laws ; 
and  had  the  emancipation  question,  lately  submitted  to 
the  people  of  Kentucky,  prevailed,  a  foreign  negro  (by 
which  we  mean  those  of  other  States  and  portions  of 
the  confederacy)  had  never  set  foot  on  our  soil.  It  is 
a  settled  and  cherished  hope  and  desire  with  many  in 
this  State,  that  the  slave  traffic  shall  speedily  terminate 
within  its  limits.  Already  has  it  been  declared,  by 
resolution  of  the  Legislature,  a  public  nuisance  for 


SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE  TRADE.  371 

traders  to  expose  their  gangs  of  chained  human  crea- 
tures within  view  of  the  capitol  of  a  sovereign  State. 
The  negroes  now  owned  in  Mississippi  are,  in  general, 
thoroughly  domesticated  and  happy  as  a  race,  attached 
to  home  and  their  masters,  and  they  are  the  most  cheer- 
ful and  light-hearted  of  human  beings.  There  is  no 
State  of  the  South  where  they  are  so  comfortably  pro- 
vided for,  so  well  treated,  and  so  amply  protected  by 
law.  It  is  thought,  moreover,  that  the  natural  increase 
of  those  now  here,  will  be  more  than  sufficient  to  culti- 
vate all  our  soil  in  a  few  years.  Thus  situated,  we  have 
little  cause  to  invite  or  allure  an  influx  of  strangers  and 
traders  with  their  living  herds.  We  have  every  thing 
to  lose,  and  nothing  to  gain,  by  such  a  course  of  con- 
duct. If,  then,  such  action  by  Congress,  within  a  juris- 
diction exclusively  its  own,  should  induce  a  like  action 
on  our  part ;  should  influence  a  movement  which  would 
lead  to  consequences  thus  beneficial  to  our  interests 
and  prepossessions,  and  which  would  have  the  eflect  of 
strengthening  slavery  as  a  strictly  domestic  institution 
in  the  States,  and  relieve  it,  at  the  same  time,  of  its 
most  repulsive  and  unwelcome  feature,  we  would  have 
little  cause  for  complaint.  On  the  contrary,  we  might 
very  consistently  contribute  toward  bringing  about  so 
agreeable  a  state  of  things. 

To  recur  now  to  our  original  propositions,  we  must 
reiterate  the  opinion,  that  while  the  right  to  emanci- 
pate lies  with  the  people  in  their  collective  body  in 
convention, — a  right  they  inherit  from  sources  of  power 
older  than  the  Constitution  or  the  laws,  and  conse- 
quently of  unassailable  and  impregnable  integrity  as 
weU  as  of  superior  magnitude, — slaves,  like  all  other 
kinds  of  property,  are  subject,  nevertheless,  to  legisla- 
tion for  regulation.  It  would  be  surely  and  strangely 
anomalous  if  they  were  not,  especially  in  that  feature 


372  SLAVERY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TRADE. 

which  we  have  been  more  particularly  employed  in 
treating  of. 

Indeed,  it  may  be  further  contended,  that  Congress 
has  far  more  power,  under  the  Constitution  and  deeds 
of  cession,  over  the  subject  of  slavery  in  the  District 
of  Columbia,  than  the  Legislatures  have  in  the  various 
States.  The  States  are  sovereign,  independent  powers. 
The  District  of  Columbia,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not 
sovereign  or  independent.  Its  inhabitants  are  isolated 
as  regards  their  relations  with  the  different  States  or 
sovereign  communities  which  form  the  United  States. 
They  have  no  voice  either  in  the  election  of  the  Presi- 
dent, or  of  the  Congress  which  govern  them.  They 
are  passive  subjects. 

The  people  of  a  sovereign  State  possess  privileges, 
and  claim  immunities  which  the  people  of  the  District 
do  not  enjoy.  The  State  Legislatures  are  not  arbitrary, 
irresponsible  bodies.  As  regards  the  ten  miles  square, 
Congress  is  entirely  an  arbitrary,  irresponsible  body. 
Here,  then,  is  a  wide  and  vital  difference,  the  grounds 
of  which  can  neither  be  controverted  nor  denied. 

But,  more  than  all,  the  District  of  Columbia  is  the 
neutral  ground  betwixt  the  jarring  and  conflicting  sec- 
tions of  the  confederacy.  As  applied  within  its  limits, 
the  nature  of  the  government  undergoes  a  change,  and 
presents  a  new  face.  Sovereign  power,  unchecked  and 
undefined,  is  lodged  elsewhere  than  in  the  people.  An 
assembly  composed  of  representatives  from  all  other 
portions  of  the  country,  is  its  sole  owner  and  supreme 
arbiter.  Taxation  and  representation  are  here  em- 
phatically disallied.  One  can  be  imposed  without  the 
recognition  or  voice  of  the  other ;  and  the  great  princi- 
ple which  gave  birth  to  American  independence,  and 
which  has  built  up  one  of  the  most  powerful  empires 
under  the  sun,  is  thus  signally  repudiated  and  disre- 


SLAVEEY   AND   THE   SLAVE   TKADE.  373 

garded  in  a  neutral  territory,  set  apart  for  the  resi- 
dence of  the  supreme  powers. 

But,  independently  of  this  paradoxical  fact,  and 
being  the  neutral  ground  between  North  and  South, 
every  reason  is  afforded  why  all  grounds  of  exception 
or  offence  to  the  opinions  and  prejudices  of  both  sec- 
tions should  be  peacefully  removed.  Congress  can 
never  abolish  slavery  in  the  District  without  abruptly 
transcending  its  legitimate  powers.  This  should  be 
satisfaction  enough  to  us  of  the  South. 

The  indiscriminate  traffic  in  slaves,  exposing  them 
for  sale  in  droves,  without  regard  to  family  or  attach- 
ments, and  under  the  very  eye  of  men  unaccustomed 
to  such  sights,  is  odious  in  the  extreme.  It  is  a  cus- 
tom not  only  foreign  to  the  tastes  and  prejudices  of  the 
Northern  men,  but  is  revolting  as  the  most  disgusting 
nuisance.  It  is  a  repulsive  and  unwelcome  sight  to  all. 
It  is  generally  regarded  as  an  unseemly  and  objection- 
able spectacle  on  the  neutral  ground  of  a  free  republic, 
one-half  of  which,  in  the  capacity  of  sovereign  States, 
has  abolished  and  repudiated  all  connection  with  the 
institution,  excepting  only  in  so  far  as  ^hey  are  consti- 
tutionally bound  to  protect  the  rights,  in  this  respect, 
of  the  slaveholding  States.  It  is  a  custom  barely  toler- 
ated even  in  the  States  where  slavery  exists  as  a  do- 
mestic institution.  In  many  of  these — Mississippi 
prominent  among  them — the  introduction  of  slaves  to 
vend  in  large  droves  is  prohibited  by  statute,  and  made 
a  penal  offence.  Why  then  should  we  claim  and  con- 
tend for  more  in  the  District,  which  belongs  to  Con- 
gress, than  is  generally  practiced  in  our  State  Govern- 
ments ?  Or  why  perversely  deny  a  right  to  Congress 
so  to  regulate  a  traffic  carried  on  within  its  "  exclusive 
jurisdiction,"  as  to  make  the  same  less  objectionable 
and  odious  to  one-half  of  its  body  ?  It  is  a  right  be- 


374  SLAVERY   AND  THE  SLAVE  TRADE. 

longing  unquestionably  to  the  "  Congress  and  Govern- 
ment of  the  United  States,"  and  when  they  shall  decide 
to  act  under  that  right,  where  will  we  find  authority  to 
prevent  or  successfully  oppose  them  ?  We  cannot  call 
on  the  States,  for  they  would  be  stopped  at  the  outset, 
for  want  of  formal  and  proper  authority  to  interfere  in 
a  matter  which  both  the  Constitution  and  the  law  have 
removed  beyond  the  reach  of  their  control.  No  right 
of  any  sovereign  State,  no  clause  or  portion  of  the 
great  federal  compact,  would  be  infringed  by  such  ac- 
tion on  the  part  of  Congress,  within  a  territory  owing 
allegiance  to  it  alone.  The  States,  then,  would  be  left 
without  the  shadow  of  complaint  or  aggrievance.  We 
could  not  appeal  to  the  General  Government,  for,  be- 
sides being  the  offending  party  itself— if  it  be  offence — 
it  can  only  move  in  such  case  by  the  terms  of  the  law, 
and  that  law  will  afford  us  no  pretext  for  the  call.  The 
army  and  navy  will  not  be  at  our  disposal,  for  we  could 
not  make  out  a  constitutional  case  of  aggrievance,  or 
frame  a  proper  exhibit  to  claim  them  at  the  hands  of 
the  Executive.  If  we  should  attempt  to  bully  or  to 
threaten,  Congress  might  silence  us  at  once  by  pro- 
ducing the  Constitution  and  deeds  of  cession,  and  by 
challenging  us  to  show  any  cause  for  questioning  the 
supremacy  of  the  General  Government  within  its  proper 
sphere  and  within  its  "  exclusive  jurisdiction."  They 
might  also  plead  our  favorite  doctrine  of  "  hands  off," 
or  the  rapidly-obtaining  principle  of  "  non-intervention." 
They  would  tell  us  to  let  them  alone  in  their  "  absolute 
and  exclusive  jurisdiction,"  and  then  they  in  turn  will 
forbear  to  interfere  with  ours.  It  will  be  time  enough, 
we  think,  to  resort  to  all  these  extreme  remedies,  and 
to  others  more  extreme  still,  when  Congress  shall  seek 
to  disturb  the  institution  in  the  States.  Even  then  we 
are  inclined  to  believe  that  remedies  less  harsh,  less  ex- 


SLAVERY   AND   THE    SLAVE    TKADE.  375 

treme,  and  less  repulsive  than  force  of  arms,  may  be 
found  to  allay  the  tumult,  and  afford  redress.  But  in 
a  case  where  we  can  establish  no  right,  found  no  pro- 
test, and  exhibit  no  authority  to  interfere ;  where,  at 
the  best,  we  would  be  so  entirely  excuseless  and  help- 
less, reason  and  mature  reflection  will  tell  us  to  pause 
and  inquire  before  we  take  the  final,  fatal  step.  Other- 
wise we  might  chance  to  be  placed  in  the  perplexing 
situation  of  the  American  army  before  the  broken  gates 
of  fallen  Mexico,  or  in  the  more  ridiculous  attitude  of 
the  French  army  before  those  of  Rome.  We  might  be 
found  eager  to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  the  tumult 
after  all  the  mischief  had  been  done ;  or,  what  is  worse 
still,  we  might  be  unable,  when  questioned  by  the  op- 
posing party,  to  state  the  grounds  or  the  nature  of  our 
offence. 


THE  TKUE  ISSUE  BETWEEN  PARTIES  IN 
THE  SOUTH :  UNION  OE  DISUNION.* 

A  CRISIS  has  been  reached  in  our  national  affairs 
when  it  becomes  us  all,  fellow-citizens,  to  reflect.  The 
crisis  is  not,  as  heretofore,  illusory  and  unreal,  or  con- 
fined merely  within  the  narrow  limits  of  party  contriv- 
ances. The  least  sagacious  may  see  that  danger  is 
imminent,  and  that  the  impulsiveness  of  some,  the  bad 
influence  of  others,  and  the  selfish  ambition  of  many, 
have  wrought  the  public  mind  to  a  degree  of  excite- 
ment that  bodes  dire  and  permanent  mischief  to  the  in- 
tegrity of  the  Government.  It  is  not  to  be  concealed 
that  the  issue  so  long  and  so  earnestly  deprecated  by 
Washington  and  other  fathers  of  the  Republic,  is  about 
to  be  joined.  That  issue  is,  Union  or  Disunion.  No 
subtlety  of  argument  or  speech,  no  specious  array  of 
words,  no  ingenious  or  metaphysical  terms,  can  longer 
cover  the  designs  of  those  who  are  promulging  the 
pernicious  doctrine  of  resistance  to  the  constitutional 
acts  of  Congress,  or,  what  is  worse,  abetting  schemes 

*  Union  or  Disunion ;  being  a  Review  of  the  alleged  causes  of  ag- 
gression at  the  recent  action  of  Congress,  together  with  some  views 
concerning  the  proposed  Southern  Convention  ;  and  an  examination  of 
His  Excellency's  late  Proclamation,  as  also  of  the  doctrine  of  Secession. 
Addressed  to  the  People  of  Mississippi.  By  a  Southron.  Columbus, 
Mississippi.  1850. 


UNION   OR  DISUNION.  377 

and  movements  which  look,  in  their  consequences,  to 
nothing  less  than  actual  secession  and  dissolution  of  the 
Union.  Mark  the  word,  fellow-citizens.  I  do  not  men- 
tion secession  without  premeditation ;  nor  do  I  charge 
it,  as  yet,  on  any  class  of  persons  hereabouts.  I  affix 
the  odium  to  their  schemes,  and  shall  endeavor  to  ex- 
plain the  grounds  of  the  charge  more  fully  as  we  pro- 
gress with  the  subject. 

It  is  the  purpose  of  these  papers  to  review  calmly 
and  succinctly  the  doctrines  set  up  by  those  who  advo- 
cate resistance  to  the  laws  of  Congress,  recently  passed, 
which  admit  California  as  a  State  of  the  Union,  and 
which  embrace  the  whole  series  of  bills  reported  by  the 
Senate  Committee  of  Thirteen,  of  which  Henry  Clay 
was  chairman ;  better  known  as  the  Compromise  or 
Adjustment  Bills.  I  purpose  to  review  the  whole 
grounds  of  what  is  termed  the  list  of  Southern  griev- 
ances. I  shall  examine  the  various  constitutional  ques- 
tions that  have  been  raised,  and  the  exposition  of  which 
has  been  depended  on  as  the  reason  for  extreme  resorts. 
I  shall  inquire  into  the  necessity  for  the  proposed  con- 
vocation of  the  Legislature  by  Governor  Quitman,  and 
also  of  the  reassemblage  of  the  Nashville  Convention ; 
and,  lastly,  I  shall  invite  your  attention  to  the  remedies 
proposed  by  the  advocates  of  resistance,  viz. :  secession 
or  dissolution  of  the  United  States,  and  the  formation 
of  a  Southern  Confederacy.  . 

To  accomplish  fully  this  design,  it  is  necessary  to 
enter  into  some  preliminary  details  of  history,  inti- 
mately connected  with  the  subject,  and  which  may  not, 
therefore,  prove  unprofitable.  It  may  serve,  and  is  de- 
signed to  show,  the  vicious  tendency  of  party,  and  the 
countless  evils  which  have  flowed  from  the  policy  of  the 
last  administration. 

The  dangers  which  now  threaten  the  peace  of  the 


378  UNION    OR   DISUNION. 

Union  date  their  origin  from  the  dark  period  of  the 
Texan  annexation.  No  matter  what  may  be  our  obli- 
gations and  relations  with  Texas  now,  it  is  undeniable 
that  her  introduction  as  a  member  of  the  United  States 
has  brought  about  the  present  dissatisfactions  and  dis- 
tractions. Previously  to  1845,  parties  had  been  divided 
mainly  on  internal  questions,  which  the  lapse  of  a  few 
years  would  have  settled  peaceably  and  with  satisfac- 
tion. The  United  States  Bank  had  fallen  beneath  the 
ponderous  arm  of  Andrew  Jackson,  and  its  advocates, 
after  a  manful  struggle,  had  submitted  quietly  to  its 
overthrow.  Internal  improvements  had  ceased  to  be 
a  ground  of  difference,  because  the  States  had  taken 
them  in  hand  separately.  The  manifold  and  exagger- 
ated evils  which  had  been  charged  on  the  Protective 
System  had  been  averted  (if,  indeed,  they  had  ever 
existed)  by  the  pacificatory  influences  of  the  Compro- 
mise Bill  of  1833  ;  and  their  partial  revival  in  1842  had 
been  effectually  checked  by  the  law  of  1846.  Mean- 
while, however,  a  new  cause  of  difference  had  been  sur- 
reptitiously introduced  by  the  expiring  administration 
of  John  Tyler.  The  recent  developments  made  by  this 
last-named  personage  and  the  Hon.  Samuel  Houston, 
leave  no  question  as  to  the  fraudulence  which  marked 
the  incipiency  of  the  annexation  project ;  the  depth  and 
consummate  artifice  of  which,  in  connection  with  the 
fabled  alliance  between  England  and  Texas,  seem  to 
have  inveigled  the  strong  perceptive  powers  of  Mr. 
Calhoun  himself.  At  least,  he  was  called  in  to  consum- 
mate the  plan,  and,  although  it  was,  on  the  part  of  Ty- 
ler, a  last  effort  at  popularity,  and  on  the  part  of  Hous- 
ton a  last  chance  of  escape  from  Mexican  reconquest,  it 
is  certain  that  his  object  was  to  guard,  by  its  speedy 
annexation  to  the  Union,  an  interest  to  which  he  was 
devoted,  and  which  he  believed  was  assailable  by  Eng- 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  379 

land  from  that  exposed  quarter.  The  name  and  influ- 
ence of  Calhoun  gave,  thus,  very  high  respectability  to 
a  project  which  might  otherwise,  under  the  auspices  of 
Houston  or  Tyler,  have  fallen  into  speedy  and  meritori- 
ous disrepute.  But  the  respectability  thrown  around  it 
by  Mr.  Calhoun,  though  probably  well  intended  by  him, 
resulted  most  disastrously.  No  sooner  was  'it  made 
known  that  the  distinguished  Carolinian  had  asserted 
the  claims  of  Texas,  than  the  Democratic  party,  cha- 
grined by  their  defeat  in  1840,  seized  adroitly  on  the 
question,  wrested  it  from  the  feeble  grasp  of  John  Ty- 
ler, and,  under  the  pale  and  sicklied  light  of  the  "  Lone 
Star,"  succeeded  in  their  efforts  for  the  Presidency. 
Mr.  Polk  was  elected,  Texas  hastily  and  inconsiderately 
annexed,  and  it  is  a  remarkable  and  not  uninstructive 
fact,  that  just  as  the  ancient  party  warfare  had  expired, 
the  Democratic  party  simultaneously  introduced  a  fire- 
brand of  contention,  which,  it  is  feared,  will  yet  prove 
the  entering  wedge  to  a  dissolution  of  the  Union. 
Scarcely  had  Texas  been  annexed,  before,  in  conse- 
quence, the  war  with  Mexico  ensued.  It  was  persisted 
in  until  California,  New  Mexico,  and  Texas  were  all 
brought  into  the  Union,  and  in  despite  of  the  warning 
voice  of  many  who  had  at  first  advocated  the  annexa- 
tion of  the  latter ;  not  believing  that  it  would  result 
in  war  and  extensive  conquest.  California  and  New 
Mexico  thus  becoming  the  property  of  the  United 
States,  there  was  revived,  as  a  natural  consequence,  the 
exciting  issue  which  had  previously  grown  out  of  the 
purchase  of  Louisiana,  and  which,  in  1819,  had  well 
nigh  caused  a  disruption  of  the  Government.  This  is- 
sue, of  course,  was  the  extension  or  restriction  of  the 
slavery  interest.  For  weal  or  for  woe,  therefore,  the 
last  administration  is  justly  chargable  with  the  dangers 
and  the  evils  which  now,  if  not  checked,  so  imminently 


380  UNION   OR   DISUNION. 

portend  a  bloody  and  devastating  civil  war.  Its  advo- 
cates should  not  shrink  from  the  responsibility ;  else, 
having  now  seen  and  felt  the  disasters  of  their  hasty 
policy,  let  them  come  forward,  and  aid  to  rescue  the 
Union. 

It  will  not  be  denied  that  the  circumstances  of  the 
admission  of  California  into  the  Union,  with  her  present 
Constitution,  were  such  as  to  engender  much  and  seri- 
ous jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  South.  Her  boundaries 
were  too  large  and  extended  by  more  than  half;  and 
the  Convention  which  framed  her  Constitution  was  got- 
ten up  with  a  haste  and  informality  that  argued  a  pre- 
determined hostility  to  the  peculiar  Southern  institu- 
tion. But  it  is  equally  undeniable  that  the  people  of 
California  possess  the  right,  in  a  conventional  capacity, 
to  exclude  slavery  from  their  midst ;  and  the  exclusion 
having  been  made,  it  was  a  very  serious  question 
whether  more  mischief  would  not  have  ensued  from 
the  attempt  to  undo  the  act,  in  the  face  of  our  settled 
principles  of  popular  right,  than  any  which  is  likely  to 
follow  from  a  recognition  of  her  claims.  It  is  also  a 
very  delicate  point  to  assume  that  Congress  has  the 
right  to  impose,  under  such  circumstances,  any  other 
than  its  solo  constitutional  restriction  on  the  terms  of 
admission,  which  is  a  republican  form  of  government. 
Such  power  has  ever  been  strenuously  denied  by  South- 
ern statesmen,  and  the  contrary  assertion  by  the  North 
in  the  case  of  Missouri  in  1819,  was  then  the  great 
cause  of  contention  and  aggravation.  The  irregulari- 
ties which  marked  the  formation  of  the  California  Con- 
stitution were  no  legitimate  bar  to  her  admission, 
although  certainly  an  objection.  Precedent  has  settled 
that  point  against  the  advocates  of  resistance.  Not  to 
mention  the  recent  cases  of  Michigan  and  of  Texas,  his- 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  381 

tory  has  preserved  the  action  of  Congress  on  two  mem- 
orable occasions,  directly  analogous.  At  the  session  of 
1802  the  territory  comprising  the  present  State  of  Ohio 
made  application  for  admission  into  the  Union.  The 
application  was  referred  to  a  Committee  of  the  Senate, 
of  which  the  celebrated  Mr.  Giles  was  chairman ;  and 
on  the  fourth  day  of  March  succeeding,  it  was  reported, 
that  although  the  requisitions  of  the  law  had  not  been 
strictly  complied  with  in  the  formation  of  the  Constitu- 
tion, and  the  prescribed  number  of  inhabitants  nearly 
twenty  thousand  short,  yet  that  it  comported  "  with 
the  general  interest  of  the  confederacy  "  to  admit  said 
State  of  Ohio  into  the  Union,  "  on  the  same  footing 
with  the  original  States,  in  all  respects  whatsoever." 
(Amer.  State  Papers.  Mis.  vol.  1st,  page  326.)  It  is 
worthy  of  remark  that  the  term,  "  general  interest  of 
the  confederacy,"  covers  the  whole  ground  of  admis- 
sion, and  evinces,  in  a  striking  manner,  the  proclivity 
of  the  past  generation  of  statesmen  to  submerge  all  fac- 
tional issues  in  the  common  weal  of  the  Union. 

The  principle  of  non-intervention  was  more  clearly 
settled  still  at  the  session  of  1808,  on  an  application  of 
the  people  inhabiting  the  Indiana  Territory  to  establish 
a  separate  government  west  of  the  river  Wabash.  The 
Committee,  in  this  instance2  reported  that,  "  being  con- 
vinced it  was  the  wish  of  a  large  majority  of  said  Ter- 
ritory that  such  separation  should  take  place,  deem  it 
always  wise  and  just  policy  to  grant  to  every  portion 
of  the  people  of  the  Union  that  form  of  government 
which  is  the  object  of  their  wishes,  when  not  incom- 
patible with  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States." 
(Amer.  State  Papers.  Mis.  vol.  1st,  page  946.) 

So  much  as  concerns  the  admission  of  California  at 
the  recent  session  of  Congress,  and  which  some  few 
discontented  spirits,  North  and  South,  but  mainly  at 


382  UNION    OR   DISUNION. 

the  South,  propose  to  resist  at  every  extremity.  The 
facts  of  the  case  only  have  been  intended  to  be  given. 
With  the  Congressional  speeches,  and  other  evidences 
touching  its  merits,  so  extensively  distributed  among 
the  people,  it  is  not  deemed  necessary  to  burthen  this 
treatise  with  lengthy  detail. 

With  regard  to  the  bill  proposing  an  adjustment  of 
pending  difficulties  with  the  State  of  Texas,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  say,  that  the  whole  subject  is  now  before 
those  most  deeply  interested,  and  who  alone  are  to  be 
the  judges  of  their  right  to  accept  or  reject  the  propo- 
sition of  Congress.  If  the  people  of  Texas  shall  prove 
to  be  incapable  of  ascertaining  their  interests  and  im- 
munities as  citizens  of  the  republic,  it  will  then  be  full 
time,  but  not  until  such  is  fairly  proven,  for  their  wise 
neighbors  to  assume  their  administration  and  direction. 
It  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that  this  is  the  view  taken  of 
this  bill  by  both  the  Texan  Senators,  concurred  with 
by  the  Hon.  John  M.  Berrien,  of  Georgia,  and  the 
Hon.  Jere  Clemens,  of  Alabama.  Their  opinions  are 
herewith  subjoined : 

"  Nothing  more  has  been  done  than  to  submit  a  proposition  to 
Texas  to  settle  a  question  of  boundary,  admitted  on  all  hands  to  be 
lull  of  difficulty.  It  is  at  her  option  to  accept  or  reject  the  offer. 
ft  will  not  do  to  argue  that  the  amount  of  money  will  bias  unfairly  the 
action  of  her  Legislature.  Put  the  question  to  any  Alabamian — ask 
him  if  he  thinks  our  State  would  sell  her  poorest  county  for  all  the 
treasures  of  the  Union,  and  he  would  treat  it  as  an  insult.  Are  we  to 
assume  that  we  are  better  than  others,  or  that  Texas  will  accept  what 
we  would  spurn  ?  I  was  willing  to  trust  Texas  with  the  care  of  her 
own  honor.  I  was  willing  also  to  trust  to  her  own  knowledge  of  hetr 
rights" — Clemen's  letter  of  August  20th. 

"  My  reasons  for  voting  for  the  bill  to  adjust  the  Texas  boundary 
sire  as  follows : 

1st.  As  evincing  a  disposition  to  reconciliation  which  strengthens 
our  cause. 

2d.  Because  Texas,  as  a  sovereign  State,  was  the  party  entitled 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  383 

to  decide  the  question  of  disposing  of  her  own  territory.  If  any  State 
had  interfered  in  our  (the  Georgia)  cession  of  1802,  I  should  have 
considered  it  an  intrusion. 

3d.  Because  the  territory  to  he  ceded  would  hecome  part  of  New 
Mexico,  and  free  from  the  Proviso. 

4th.  Principally  because  relieving  Texas  from  her  debt,  it  would 
develop  her  energies ;  and  I  consider  a  strong  slaveholding  State  in 
that  quarter  as  of  incalculable  importance,  in  itself,  and  necessarily 
leading  to  the  formation  of  others." — Berrien's  Macon  letter. 

The  third  in  the  series  of  what  is  called  the  aggres- 
sive or  anti-Southern  measures  of  Congress,  is  the  bill 
erecting  Territorial  Governments  for  the  Territories  of 
New  Mexico  and  Utah.  These  bills,  respectively,  con- 
tain the  following  section : 

"Be  it  further  enacted,  That  when  admitted  as  a 
State,  the  said  territory,  or  any  portion  of  the  same, 
shall  be  received  into  the  Union  with  or  without  slave- 
ry, as  their  Constitution  may  prescribe  at  the  time  of 
their  admission." 

This  clause,  were  there  no  ulterior  objects  in  the 
view  of  those  who  now  so  busy  themselves  in  promulg- 
ing  the  doctrine  of  secession,  or  its  equivalent,  the  prin- 
ciple of  sedition,  would,  it  might  reasonably  be  inferred, 
have  proven  perfectly  satisfactory  to  the  entire  South. 
There  is,  at  least,  no  restriction  as  concerns  slavery, 
and  it  is  assuming  what  might  not  be  safe  for  the  South, 
to  contend  for  its  direct  establishment  by  Congress  in 
those  Territories.  If  the  influence  of  Texas  shall  be 
what  Judge  Berrien,  in  the  latter  clause  above  quoted, 
predicts  it  may  be,  there  is  almost  a  certainty  that  new 
slaveholding  States  may  yet  be  formed  out  of  this  iden- 
tical Territory.  It  is  the  mere  cant  of  disunion  to 
stickle  on  the  point  of  non-protection  by  Congress  to 
slave  property  in  those  Territories.  The  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  is  now  extended  over  those  Terri- 
tories. The  Constitution  expressly  recognizes  the  in- 


384  UNION    OR  DISUNION. 

stitution  of  slavery ;  but  it  has  been  left  for  the  local 
authorities  always  to  regulate  the  municipal  and  police 
features.  The  doctrine  of  non-interference  with  slavery 
by  Congress  has  been  too  long  and  too  sedulously 
claimed  by  the  South  to  stickle  now  on  this  point.  It 
is  taught  in  the  celebrated  Southern  Address  penned 
by  Mr.  Calhoun ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that  this  great 
statesman  and  friend  of  slavery  never,  in  any  speech  or 
address,  contends  for  what  many  now  deem  so  very 
essential  to  Southern  interests — viz. :  protection  by  Con- 
gress for  slave  property  in  the  Territories. 

The  bill  most  objected  to  by  factious  sectionalists 
in  connection  with  the  late  Congressional  measures  of 
harmony  and  pacification,  is  that  which  abolishes  the 
indiscriminate  slave  trade  in  the  District  of  Columbia. 
It  is  pretended  that  this  is  not  only  aggressive  on  the 
rights  of  the  South,  but  is  palpably  contrary  to  the 
Federal  Constitution — so  much  so  as  to  warrant  hos- 
tilities to  the  Government  on  the  part  of  the  Southern 
States.  Now  if  it  can  be  shown  that  this  bill  is  con- 
formable to  the  terms  of  the  Maryland  deed  of  cession 
and  to  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  the  last 
objection  of  course  falls  to  the  ground,  and,  as  a  neces- 
sary consequence,  the  first  is  removed ;  for  it  cannot  be 
rationally  contended  that  the  South  could  be  aggrieved 
by  any  course  of  action  on  the  part  of  Congress  which 
is  proven  to  be  in  accordance  with  these  two  instru- 
ments. 

The  political  situation  of  the  District,  in  view  of  the 
strong  popular  features  of  our  government,  is  certainly 
anomalous.  As  applied  within  its  limits,  the  nature  of 
the  government  undergoes  an  entire  change,  and  pre- 
sents a  new  face.  Sovereign  power,  unchecked  and 
undefined  in  the  original  compacts,  is  lodged  elsewhere 
than  in  the  people.  An  assembly,  composed  of  persons 


UNION    OR  DISUNION.  385 

from  all  other  portions  of  the  Confederacy,  is  its  sole 
owner  and  supreme  arbiter.  Taxation  and  representa- 
tion are  here  emphatically  disallied.  One  can  be  im- 
posed without  the  recognition  or  voice  of  the  other ; 
and  the  great  principle  which  gave  birth  to  American 
Independence,  and  which  has  built  up  one  of  the  most 
powerful  empires  under  the  sun,  is  thus  signally  repu- 
diated and  disregarded  in  a  neutral  territory  set  apart, 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  nation,  for  the  residence  of  the 
supreme  powers.  Before  progressing  with  this  branch 
of  the  subject,  however,  I  have  thought  it  would  be 
better,  my  fellow-citizens,  to  place  before  you  the 
Maryland  deed  of  cession,  conveying  this  District  to 
Congress,  and  which,  now  that  the  portion  of  its  origi- 
nal limits  belonging  to  Virginia  has  been  retroceded  to 
that  State,  is  the  only  deed  to  which  it  becomes  neces- 
sary to  refer.  Side  by  side  with  this  deed,  I  shall  place 
that  clause  of  the  Federal  Constitution  which  accepts 
the  same,  and  prescribes  the  powers  of  Congress  over 
the  District  limits : 

"  Be  it  enacted  by  the  General  Assembly  of  the  State  of  Maryland, 
That  all  that  part  of  the  said  territory  called  Columbia,  which  lies 
within  the  limits  of  this  State,  shall  be,  and  the  same  is  hereby  ac- 
knowledged to  "be,  for  ever  ceded  and  relinquished  to  the  Congress  and 
Government  of  the  United  States,  in  full  and  conclusive  right  and  ex- 
clusive jurisdiction,  as  well  of  soil  as  of  persons  residing,  or  to  reside 
thereon." — Deed  from  Maryland. 

"  Congress  shall  have  power  to  exercise  exclusive  jurisdiction  in  all 
cases  whatsoever,  over  such  district  (not  exceeding  ten  miles  square)  as 
may,  by  cession  of  particular  States,  and  by  the  acceptance  of  Con- 
gress, become  the  seat  of  government  of  the  United  States." — Const., 
art.  1st,  section  8th. 

The  only  proviso  affixed  to  this  deed  is,  "  that  no 

right  shall  be  vested  in  the  United  States  as  to  soil 

owned  by  individuals  otherwise  than  the  same  might 

be  transferred  by  such  individuals."    The  deed,  any 

17 


386  UNION   OR  DISUNION. 

candid  reasoner  must  admit,  is  full  and  absolute,  while 
the  language  of  the  Constitution  is  so  explicit  as  to 
amount,  literally,  to  an  unqualified,  sweeping  clause. 
They  both  are  so  framed  as  to  convey  as  large  powers 
as  it  is  possible  to  conceive  that  language  can  possibly 
convey.  The  deed  parts  with  Maryland's  right  to  the 
District  '•'•for  ever  ;  "  the  "  acceptance  "  in  the  Consti- 
tution carries  along  with  it,  as  the  most  biased  and  fas- 
tidious stickler  will  concede,  "  exclusive  jurisdiction  in 
all  cases  whatsoever." 

It  will  be  seen,  moreover,  that  the  Congress  is  a 
party  to  this  deed  in  more  ways  than  one.  It  is  a  party 
independently,  because  the  cession  is  made  to  the  Con- 
gress and  Government  of  the  United  States.  It  is  also 
a  party  by  virtue  of  its  co-ordinate  connection  with  the 
government  of  the  United  States. 

Congress  is  thus  armed  with  double  powers,  and  as 
to  the  ceded  District  may  be  said  to  be  sovereign,  ex- 
cept as  concerns  pre-existing  rights,  which  no  cession 
could  transfer,  and  no  Constitution,  or  acceptance  of 
such  cession,  wrest  from  the  people.  I  pause  to  say 
that  among  the  pre-existing  rights  is  that  to  hold  slaves, 
and  that  Congress  can  have  no  power,  consequently,  to 
abolish  slavery  in  the  District,  without  the  previously 
expressed  assent  of  the  people  thereof.  The  power  to 
abolish  is  not  the  function  of  a  legislative  body,  deriv- 
ing its  power  from  instruments  less  ancient  than  the 
institution  proposed  to  be  abolished.  It  is  a  power 
which  can  belong  only  to  those  who  own  slaves, 
wherever  found  living  under  our  present  Federal  Con- 
stitution. 

But  Congress  being  clothed  with  absolute  power, 
and  with  exclusive  jurisdiction  over  the  District,  must 
needs  possess  supreme  legislative  powers,  from  which 
there  can  be  no  appeal  to  the  States,  and  with  which 


UNION   OR  DISUNION.  387 

the  last  have  no  right  to  interfere.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  slave  traffic  is  legitimately  the  subject  of  legis- 
lation. The  traffic  is  carried  on  under  the  law.  The 
right  of  the  master  to  the  slave  as  property  is  older 
than  the  law,  and  can  no  more  be  assailed  by  the  law 
than  could  the  right  to  bequeath  or  inherit,  or  the  right 
of  self-defence,  or  the  freedom  of  conscience;  all  of 
which  are  of  none  the  less  effect  because  partly  unwrit- 
ten and  undefined.  The  traffic  has  always  and  every 
where  been  reckoned  as  among  the  municipal  or  police 
features  of  slavery.  It  has  been  so  considered  by  every 
government,  ancient  and  modern,  under  which  slavery 
has  existed.  That  of  Rome,  which  gave  to  the  master 
even  the  power  of  life  and  limb  over  his  slave,  always 
claimed  to  regulate  the  slave  traffic ;  but  it  never 
claimed  to  destroy,  by  simple  legislative  majority,  the 
relation  between  master  and  slave.  Greece,  as  a  gov- 
ernment, was  anxious  to  rid  the  country  of  the  Helot 
slavery  long  before  the  body  of  the  people  were  either 
prepared  for,  or  willing  to,  such  riddance.  The  gov- 
ernment, therefore,  claimed  only  the  right  of  all  gov- 
ernments, to  abridge,  and  finally  to  prohibit  the  indis- 
criminate traffic  in  the  beings  who  were  enslaved ;  but 
it  dared  not,  even  in  that  early  age,  to  infringe  the 
right  of  property  by  abruptly  destroying  the  relation 
between  master  and  slave.  Russia,  although  a  simple 
despotism,  where  all  legislative  power  even  is  lodged 
with  the  Czar,  would  not  venture,  by  a  peremptory 
ukase,  to  abolish  serfdom  within  its  imperial  limits ;  yet 
the  slave  traffic  is  not  only  effectually  regulated,  but  is 
so  far  prohibited  as  that  serfs  go  along  with  the  land 
on  which  they  were  born,  and  thus  they  are  termed 
slaves  of  soil.  The  rash  and  unwarranted  abolition  of 
serfdom,  even  by  the  sceptred  Autocrat  of  all  the  Rus- 
sias,  would  kindle  a  flame  of  resentment  that  would 


388  UNION   OR   DISUNION. 

quickly  spread  from  the  Don  to  the  Vistula.  In  abol- 
ishing the  traffic,  which  was  an  exercise  of  power  con- 
formable both  to  justice  and  to  custom,  not  the  slight- 
est opposition  was  encountered. 

Under  our  government  of  sovereign  States  and 
limited  powers,  this  power  is  not  dormant.  All  power, 
of  whatever  description,  must  reside  somewhere.  There 
are  powers  which  belong  to  the  body  of  the  people,  to 
the  States  in  their  separate  capacity  and  in  constitu- 
tional convention,  and  to  Congress.  We  have  assumed 
that  the  will  of  the  people  is  alone  the  arbiter  of  slavery 
as  an  institution,  and  they  alone  may  abolish  slavery, 
whether  in  the  States  or  in  the  District.  The  regula- 
tion of  the  slave  trade  is  a  matter  of  legislation,  both  in 
the  States  and  in  the  District.  As  to  the  States,  their 
own  Legislatures  may  and  do  exercise  this  power. 
Within  the  District,  the  Congress  is  absolute,  and  un- 
questionably possesses  a  similar  power.  Nor  have  the 
States  any  right  to  object,  or  any  ground  of  aggriev- 
ance,  unless  they  are  aggrieved  by  the  terms  of  the 
Constitution.  Congress  has  exercised  this  power  re- 
cently by  breaking  up  slave  depots  and  markets  within 
the  District,  by  prohibiting  the  introduction  of  slaves 
within  the  District  for  purposes  of  traffic  or  sale,  and 
by  declaring  such  slaves  to  be  free  in  all  such  cases. 
How  shall  we  go  about  resisting,  in  a  constitutional 
and  peaceful  way  I  mean,  the  exercise  of  an  unquestion- 
ably existing  power  by  a  body  "  absolute  "  by  the  deed 
of  cession  within  the  ceded  limits,  and  declared  to  pos- 
sess "  exclusive  jurisdiction  in  all  cases  whatsoever," 
by  the  very  Constitution  under  which  our  Government 
exists,  "  over  such  District  as  may,  by  cession  of  par- 
ticular States,  and  the  acceptance  of  Congress,  become 
the  seat  of  government  of  the  United  States  ?  "  The 
evil,  if  evil  there  be,  must  be  traced  to  the  terms  of 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  889 

the  original  cession,  and  not  charged  against  the  body 
acting  under  that  cession ;  must  be  imputed  to  the 
Constitution,  and  not  to  the  body  which  exercises  a 
power  conferred  by  that  Constitution.  But  more  of 
this  anon. 

I  have  thus,  fellow-citizens  of  the  State  of  Missis- 
sippi, gone  through  with  a  brief  but  concise  summary 
of  all  those  measures  of  Congress  which  have  been  de- 
nounced as  intending  mischief  on  the  Southern  institu- 
tion, and  against  which  it  is  proposed,  in  some  quarters, 
to  direct  the  artillery  of  public  indignation,  if  not  of 
Southern  chivalry.  I  have  said  nothing  about  the  fu- 
gitive slave  bill,  because  it  seems  to  be  generally  satis- 
factory. But  I  purpose,  in  this  number,  to  call  your 
attention  to  the  remedies  intended,  or  by  some  agitated, 
to  cure  these  alleged  evils,  and  the  modes  of  resistance 
so  boldly  promulged  by  the  disaffected.  This  was 
the  more  immediate  object  of  this  essay,  than  discussion 
of  the  merits  of  the  bills,  at  which  I  have  but  glanced. 

These  remedies  are,  I  regret  to  say,  all  of  a  violent 
character ;  the  resistance  proposed  looks  alone  to  dis- 
organization and  dismemberment  of  the  Union.  The 
ultra  doctrines  of  the  South  Carolina  Ordinance,  so  sig- 
nally buried  in  1833  by  the  Proclamation  of  General 
Jackson,  have  been  disentombed,  and  are  held  forth  as 
the  nucleus  around  which  discontent  and  sedition  may 
rally.  There  is,  I  fear,  this  great  difference  between 
the  period  of  their  inglorious  sepulture,  and  their  resur- 
rection in  this  day.  Then,  their  pernicious  influences 
were  mainly  confined  to  South  Carolina;  now,  their 
baneful  exhalations  are  far  more  widely  disseminated. 
The  day  may  be  near  at  hand  when  an  Andrew  Jack- 
son might  prove  a  blessing  to  the  integrity  of  the  Re- 
public. 


390  UNION    OR  DISUNION. 

It  is  proposed  to  call  a  Convention  of  the  Southern 
States  ;  and  to  aid  this  project,  doubtless,  our  belliger- 
ent Governor  has  convoked  the  Legislature  for  the 
eighteenth  day  of  next  month.  The  objects  which  such 
Convention  is  intended  to  subserve  cannot  be  of  a  very 
peaceful  tendency,  if  we  are  to  judge  by  the  proclama- 
tions of  His  Excellency  and  the  Governor  of  Georgia, 
the  only  authentic  evidences  of  a  design  to  resist  the 
Government,  so  far  given  to  the  world.  If  the  objects 
of  the  Convention  be  peaceful,  I,  for  one,  see  no  use  in 
its  assemblage.  It  is,  under  any  circumstances,  a  ques- 
tionable resort,  and  certainly  a  dangerous  mode  of  col- 
lecting public  sentiment.  It  is  not  only  a  dangerous, 
but  very  unreliable  mode,  where  such  wide  and  fun- 
damental differences  of  opinion  exist,  as  surely  do  exist 
among  the  Southern  people  at  this  time.  A  conven- 
tion can  only  answer  a  good  purpose  when  there  is  a 
great  coincidence  of  opinion  and  unity  of  sentiment  as 
to  the  aggressions  of  the  General  Government.  When 
I  go  into  the  advocacy  of  a  convention  which  is  to  de- 
liberate concerning  alleged  grievances  from  Congress, 
I  must  be  prepared  for  revolution.  I  must  be  con- 
vinced that  there  has  been  not  only  deep  and  serious 
innovation  on  Southern  rights,  but  a  palpable  and  dan- 
gerous violation  of  the  Constitution.  If  I  feel  that 
there  has  been  nothing  of  either  of  these,  I  prefer  to 
seek  a  remedy  through  the  ballot-box,  or  by  remon- 
strance, or  in  some  way  authorized  by  the  Constitution. 
If  the  advocates  of  a  Southern  Convention  design  to 
direct  its  action  against  the  laws  of  the  land,  or  the 
Government  of  the  United  States,  I  oppose  such  Con- 
vention entirely.  If  it  is  hinted,  as  some  wish  us  to 
believe,  to  deliberate  concerning  prospective  or  antici- 
pated grievances,  concerning  the  mere  "  shadow  of 
coming  events,"  or  for  adopting  an  ultimatum  against 


UNION   OR   DISUNION.  391 

merely  fancied  wrongs,  supposed  to  be  intended  by  the 
North,  I  must  still  say  I  cannot  concur  in  the  policy. 
"  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  especially 
when  that  evil  is  only  suspected ;  when  it  exists  only 
in  the  imaginations  of  those  who  seem  to  delight  in  dis- 
cord, and  who  hold  pertinaciously  to  the  dogma,  that 
"  no  good  can  come  out  of  Nazareth."  I  am  of  those 
who  see  no  adequate  cause  for  assembling  a  Convention 
to  resist  what  has  been  done ;  and  I  assuredly  am  not 
so  enlightened  as  to  the  future,  that  I  shah1  advocate 
preparation  against  mere  phantom  encroachments.  I 
am  not  haunted  by  any  distempered  visions.  I  see  no 
"  grinning  horrors  "  in  the  unrobed  future  of  the  Re- 
public, as  it  stands.  If  my  fancy  ever  wanders  into  the 
dreamy  future,  I  am  always  greeted  by  smiling  visions 
of  the  brightness,  and  glory,  and  greatness  of  the  Union 
— beaming  with  the  mild  radiance  of  its  original  purity, 
and  gathering  increased  lustre  as  it  sweeps  onward  to 
its  high  and  holy  destiny.  Sometimes,  I  confess,  the 
gorgeous  hues  of  the  picture  are  momentarily  darkened 
by  the  ghastly  intrusions  of  spectred  fanatics,  or  of 
Gorgon-like  agitators,  such  as  emanate  from  Tammany 
Hall  or  Nashville  Conventions ;  but  ere  long  the  bright- 
ness reappears — familiar  faces,  like  those  of  Washington 
and  Franklin,  peer  forth  from  the  transient  obscurity, 
and  the  "  black  spirits,"  frowned  into  nothingness,  van- 
ish as  mists  from  before  the  rising  sun. 

A  convention,  fellow-citizens,  whose  members  are 
composed  of  citizens  of  particular  States  only,  elected 
without  the  "  consent  of  Congress,"  and  which  looks  to 
the  formation  of  any  agreement  or  compact  among 
themselves,  is  an  unconstitutional  and  a  seditious  assem- 
blage. The  late  Nashville  Convention  assembled  with- 
out the  consent  of  Congress,  expressly  to  form  some 
agreement  among  the  Southern  States.  Its  address 


302  UNION   OR  DISUNION. 

was  directed  alone  to  the  people  of  the  Southern  States, 
and  its  action  was  submitted  alone  to  Southern  States. 
It  is  now  proposed  to  sanction  a  re-assemblage  of  this 
Convention,  or  to  call  into  being  another  looking  to  the 
same  objects.  It  is  useless  for  the  advocates  of  a  Con- 
vention to  attempt  a  disguise  of  their  objects.  If  their 
object  was  peaceful  deliberation  merely,  they  would  re- 
sort to  a  peaceful,  constitutional  method  of  deliberation. 
Their  design  is  to  attempt  to  unite  the  South  in  some 
scheme  .of  resistance  against  the  recent  laws  of  Con- 
gress. The  pretext  to  deliberate  with  a  view  to  future 
aggressions,  is  too  senseless  and  too  shallow  to  dupe 
even  the  least  sagacious. 

Now,  fellow-citizens,  if  we  are  a  law-abiding  people, 
let  us  look  well  to  our  sworn  duty,  which  is  to  support 
the  Constitution.  Let  us  see  what  that  Constitution 
says,  and  act  accordingly.  If,  on  the  contrary,  we  are 
ripe  for  anarchy  and  revolution,  let  us  face  the  matter, 
and  so  declare.  The  Constitution  declares,  in  the  tenth 
section  of  its  first  article,  that  "  no  State  shall  enter  into 
any  treaty,  alliance,  or  confederation."  This  language 
is  clearly  unmistakable,  and  asserts  a  prohibition  on  the 
separate  States  against  uniting  in  any  confederation. 
But  there  is  still  a  more  direct  inhibition  against  assem- 
blages convened  for  the  purposes  above  stated.  The 
following  clause  declares  explicitly,  that  "no  State 
shall,  without  the  consent  of  Congress,  enter  into  any 
agreement  or  compact  with  another  State,  or  with  a 
foreign  power." 

If  words  have  any  meaning,  fellow-citizens,  that 
meaning  is  apparent  in  the  above  clauses  of  the  Federal 
Constitution.  I  construe  them  to  assert  that  any  body 
convened  on  the  basis  and  in  the  manner  of  the  late 
Nashville  Convention,  or  which  may  be  convened,  at 
any  time,  without  the  consent  of  Congress,  for  any  pur- 


UNION   OE   DISUNION.  393 

pose  of  resistance  or  deliberation  hostile  to  the  action 
of  Congress,  is  an  unconstitutional  assemblage.  If  the 
objects  of  the  Convention  were  those  of  remonstrance, 
then  the  people,  or  their  delegates,  might  peacefully 
and  legally  assemble.  But  a  Convention,  formed  of 
citizens  of  different  States,  and  which  advises  a  course 
of  action  on  the  part  of  those  States  inimical  to  the 
Government,  or  hostile  to  the  laws  of  the  land,  comes 
within  the  prohibition  of  the  Constitution.  For  these 
reasons  I  have  said  that  when  I  shall  advocate  a  Con- 
vention to  be  thus  formed,  and  that  shall  be  intended 
to  band  the  South  against  the  action  of  Congress,  I 
shall  be  prepared  for  revolution.  Of  course,  the  people 
have  a  right,  when  the  majority  so  decide,  to  revolu- 
tionize and  form  a  new  Government;  and  when  the 
present  Government  fails  of  its  intents  and  purposes, 
and  when  all  constitutional  remedies  shall  have  been 
exhausted  in  attempting  to  obtain  proper  redress  against 
palpable  aggressions,  no  one  will  deny  that  then  will  be 
the  time  to  choose  between  evils,  and  to  count  the 
value  of  the  Union.  But  when  the  ship  springs  a  leak, 
it  is  faint-hearted  and  treacherous  to  desert  until  all 
the  pumps  have  been  thoroughly  tried  and  exhausted. 
Let  me  say,  by  way  of  illustration,  that  if,  in  defiance 
of  alllthat  has  occurred,  and  of  law  and  justice,  Con- 
gress should  assume  to  abolish  the  institution  of  slavery 
in  the  District,  and  shall  pass  a  law  to  abolish  the  slave 
'trade  within,  or  as  between  the  slaveholding  States, 
the  infraction  will  then  be  sufficiently  palpable  and  vio- 
lent, in  my  judgment,  to  warrant  violent  remedies  and 
harsh  resorts.  But  disunion,  even  then,  would  be  a 
useless  remedy ;  for  thereby  we  lose  not  only  the  power 
to  enforce  proper  redress,  but  we  lose  every  thing. 
Secession  and  dissolution  are  the  very  worst  of  all  evils, 
as  I  shall  presently  demonstrate.  We  let  slip  the  ad- 
17* 


#94  UNION    OR   DISUNION. 

vantages  we  now  hold  over  our  enemies,  by  resorting 
to  a  disruption  of  the  Government.  It  is  just  what 
they  wish,  and  are  attempting  to  drive  us  into.  So 
long  as  the  Constitution  lasts,  our  rights  as  regards 
slavery,  being  recognized  therein,  are  safe,  and  our  op- 
ponents are  obliged  to  abide  and  submit.  If  they 
violate  the  Constitution  by  palpable  aggression,  why 
should  we  be  made  the  sufferers  ?  If  we  break  up  the 
Union,  the  Constitution  falls,  the  Government  is  de- 
stroyed, our  enemies  are  released  from  all  obligations, 
while  we  are  thus  cast  loose  from  the  only  bond  that 
links  us  with  the  civilized  and  enlightened  world.  We 
thus  lose  every  advantage  and  gain  no  compensation. 
We  weaken  our  cause  by  shearing  it  of  its  great  arm 
of  strength.  If  the  Constitution  is  violated  by  them, 
they  are  the  disunionists,  and  they  should  be  stigma- 
tized as  such.  If  there  is  to  be  a  collision,  let  us  of  the 
South  at  least  be  in  the  right.  If  the  majority  of  Con- 
gress should  violate  the  Constitution  as  I  have  suggest- 
ed, let  us  wait  to  see  if  the  body  of  the  North  upholds 
and  endorses  the  violation  and  aggression.  Let  us  see 
if  their  constituents  sanction  their  treachery.  This,  in 
my  opinion,  is  by  no  means  probable.  The  great  States 
of  New  York  and  Pennsylvania  are  bound  to  us  by  the 
golden  cords  of  self-interest.  Their  principal  wealth, 
and  the  greatness  of  their  two  mammoth  emporiums, 
are  derived  from  traffic  with  the  South.  The  New 
England  States  are  worth  nothing  to  them  in  compari- 
son with  the  Southern  States.  Cut  them  off  from  the 
Southern  trade,  and  they  are  well  aware  that  they 
must  diminish  ruinously.  The  severance  of  the  Union, 
and  the  consequent  anarchy  and  disruption  of  trade, 
would  bankrupt  the  cities  of  New  York  and  Philadel- 
phia, and  every  cotton  merchant  would  become  insol- 
vent. Three  months  of  hostilities  between  the  States 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  395 

would  shock  their  business  in  a  manner  that  ten  years 
of  peace  could  not  repair.  The  body  of  the  people, 
therefore,  knowing  these  things — and  they  are  too  sa- 
gacious not  to  know  them — would  be  far  from  counte- 
nancing a  course  of  action  by  Congress  that  would  lead 
to  disunion.  They  would  make  common  cause  with 
the  South ;  the  offending  Congress  would  be  displaced 
at  the  term's  end,  these  two  States  will  have  been 
gained  on  the  side  of  the  Union,  and  the  Constitution 
and  Government  have  been  saved. 

But  suppose  that,  immediately  on  the  heels  of  the 
aggression,  we  appeal  only  to  a  Convention  of  Southern 
States.  Do  we  not  rashly  and  unnecessarily  jeopard 
the  dearest  of  causes  by  closing  the  doors  to  all  other 
States  ?  We  lose  every  thing  without  even  attempting 
to  gain  any  thing.  We  lose  the  protecting  influence 
of  the  great  bond  of  Union,  without  even  opening  a 
door  for  its  salvation. 

Such,  fellow-citizens,  is  the  course  of  conduct,  and 
its  consequences,  advised  by  the  advocates  of  the  Con- 
vention, and  by  the  disciples  of  Mr.  Rhett,  and  their 
seditious  coadjutors  in  Mississippi.  I,  for  one,  repudi- 
ate any  such  doctrine,  and  abjure  all  such  tutelage.  I 
desire  to  matriculate  at  some  other  than  the  fountain 
of  South  Carolina  Rhett-oric. 

But  can  a  Convention  of  Southern  States  be  gotten 
up  which  will  fairly  and  truly  reflect  and  represent 
public  sentiment  at  the  South  ?  I  think  not.  In  the 
first  place,  the  party  distinctions  of  Whig  and  Demo- 
crat are  by  no  means  obliterated.  It  is  true  that  a 
slight  coalescence  has  been  formed  among  a  few.  Some 
of  the  Whigs,  tempted  by  ambition,  perhaps,  or  be- 
trayed by  ardent  temperaments  into  an  over-wrought 
zeal,  or  misled  by  erroneous  calculations,  have  been  in- 
cautious enough  to  join  the  seditious  wing  of  the  great 


396  UNION   OR  DISUNION. 

Democratic  party.  But  the  body  of  the  Whig  party 
remain  firm  to  their  integrity,  and  have  openly  repudi- 
ated all  such  leaders.  Some  Democrats  have  united 
with  them  in  the  vain  attempt  to  form  a  par  excellence 
Southern  party ;  but  the  body  of  the  Democrats  are  by 
no  means  committed  to  an  ultra  platform.  They  ad- 
here to  party  and  to  party  men,  and  refuse  any  direct 
coalition  on  what  is  termed  the  Southern  question. 
They  are,  it  is  true,  more  equally  divided  on  the  Union 
and  Disunion  question,  than  are  the  Whigs  ;  and,  per- 
haps, as  some  of  their  leaders  claim,  the  majority  is  for 
resistance.  But  the  issue  has  not  been  fairly  joined 
and  put ;  and,  as  yet,  they  manifest  every  desire  to  co- 
here as  a  party,  on  the  ancient  and  popular  principle, 
that  "  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the  bush." 
When  their  hot-headed  leaders  approach  them  on  the 
subject  of  coalition,  the  answer,  if  we  may  judge  by 
actions,  has  always  been  in  the  language  of  Scripture : 
"  Go  thy  way ;  at  a  more  convenient  season "  we  will 
join  you.  At  the  same  time,  the  body  of  the  Whigs, 
in  every  instance  where  a  coalition  has  been  attempted, 
have  protested  against  their  absorption,  and  consequent 
extinction  as  a  conservative,  national  party.  With  a 
conservative  and  genuine  Whig  administration,  which, 
so  far,  has  stood  true  to  Southern  rights,  because  true 
to  the  Constitution,  and  which,  relying  on  the  cheerful 
support  of  its  friends  in  both  sections,  is  endeavoring  to 
impress  conservative  and  national  Whig  principles  on 
the  Government,  and  to  illustrate  their  beautiful  influ- 
ence— the  Whigs  seem  unwilling  to  surrender  their 
tried  friends,  ere  yet  they  have  offended.  Nor  do  they 
seem  at  all  inclined  to  the  belief  that  they  will  offend. 
Millard  Fillmore  and  Daniel  Webster  were  never  so 
popular  at  the  South  as  now,  and  their  friends  evince 
every  reliance  in  their  administration. 


UNION   OR  DISUNION.  397 

Parties,  then,  are  still  jealous,  still  disunited,  and 
there  is  little  prospect  of  a  coalition.  An  effort,  there- 
fore, to  elect  delegates  to  a  Southern  Convention,  would 
most  likely  take  a  party  turn,  and  become  a  party  mat- 
ter. This  would  beget  bad  blood  at  the  South,  let  suc- 
cess perch  on  whichever  side  it  might ;  the  moral,  or, 
to  speak  more  properly,  the  sectional  influence  of  the 
Convention  would  be  completely  baffled,  and  the  result 
would  be  lamentable  divisions  and  enmities  among 
Southern  friends.  This,  my  fellow-citizens,  is  of  itself  a 
sufficient  argument  with  me  to  oppose  all  attempts  at 
the  Southern  Convention. 

But  this  is  not  all.  I  fear  that,  after  assembling, 
such  Convention  would  rather  be  found  lending  itself 
to  the  manufacture  of  public  sentiment,  than  conform- 
ing to  the  will  of  those  they  would  be  said  to  represent. 
That  will  could  not  now  be  ascertained.  The  advocates 
of  the  Convention  are  either  unwilling  or  afraid  to  avow 
their  objects,  or  to  meet  the  issue  of  Union  or  Disunion 
— of  resistance  or  obedience  to  the  laws  of  the  country. 
They  could  not  sustain,  before  the  people,  an  effort  to 
call  a  Convention  merely  to  deliberate,  or  to  adopt  an 
ultimatum  against  aggressions  not  yet  committed.  The 
people  will  claim  the  privilege  of  deliberating,  and  then 
send  delegates  from  their  midst  to  act.  You  cannot 
get  the  Conventionists  to  join  the  issue  of  war  or  peace, 
resistance  or  non-resistance,  by  their  proposed  Conven- 
tion. Their  addresses,  their  resolutions,  even  their 
speeches  in  primary  assemblies,  all  point  to  resistance, 
and  cover  a  settled  purpose  of  dissolution.  But  they 
disclaim  violence  and  repudiate  disunion,  where  the 
naked  issue  is  made.  A  Convention,  therefore,  is  im- 
practicable, and  would  not  reflect  truly  and  entirely 
public  sentiment.  The  question  of  a  Convention  may 
then  be  thus  resolved :  If  intended  only  to  deliberate, 


398  UNION    OB   DISUNION. 

it  is  not  their  province ;  if  to  adopt  an  ultimatum 
against  airy  aggressions,  it  is  unnecessary ;  if  to  decide 
the  issue  of  resistance  or  obedience,  or  of  Union  or 
Disunion,  no  such  issue  will  have  been  made,  and  the 
South  is  not  united. 

In  the  preceding  sections,  fellow-citizens,  I  have 
forborne  to  amplify.  I  have  left  much  to  your  own 
reflection,  and  preferred  to  do  so.  I  have  mainly  en- 
deavored to  mark  out  the  true  issues,  believing  you  to 
be  fully  capable  of  filling  up  the  detail  of  argument,  and 
of  following  the  same  to  its  just  and  legitimate  conclu- 
sion. My  only  remaining  task  now  is  to  examine, 
briefly  but  minutely,  the  other  proposed  remedy  of  se- 
cession— a  remedy  which  I  shall  endeavor  to  dissect 
of  its  countless  enormities  and  mischiefs,  and  to  demon- 
strate to  be  worse  than  the  alleged  disease.  I  am  happy 
to  find,  however,  that  this  course  is  suggested  by  very 
few — is  disavowed  by  many  even  of  the  most  disaffect- 
ed, and  is  dreaded  by  nearly  all. 

Has  a  State  of  this  Union  the  constitutional  right  to 
secede  "  without  the  consent  of  Congress,"  or  the  other 
States?  This  question  unfolds  and  opens  the  whole 
issue.  I  shall  argue  it  in  a  somewhat  novel  point  of 
view,  and  invoke  your  unbiased  attention.  It  will  be 
for  you  to  say,  after  going  candidly  through  with  the 
argument,  whether  I  sustain  my  premises. 

Let  me  ask  first,  however,  what  is  the  nature  of  our 
bond  of  union  ?  Is  it  the  creature  of  the  State  Govern- 
ments, or  the  people  of  the  States  united?  Is  it  an 
agreement  merely,  a  league  between  the  different 
States,  a  copartnership  of  separate  and  distinct  Gov- 
ernments, or  a  regularly  "ordained  and  established 
Constitution,"  the  declared  supreme  law  of  the  entire 
confederacy  ?  If  I  understand  history,  fellow-citizens, 


UNION   OR   DISUNION.  399 

it  surely  is  none  of  the  three  first ;  and  if  the  instru- 
ment, or  the  bond,  does  not  utter  a  lie  on  its  very  face, 
and  in  its  every  feature  and  provision,  it  is  unquestiona- 
bly and  undeniably  the  last.  Its  very  birth  and  origin 
show  that  I  am  correct  in  point  of  fact.  The  old  con- 
federation was,  indeed,  a  league — a  mere  compact  be- 
tween the  different  States.  Under  that  the  General 
Government  was,  in  very  truth,  a  mere  creature  of  the 
State  Governments.  It  could  not  move  nor  act  with- 
out their  consent.  It  could  not  lay  or  collect  taxes  and 
duties,  nor  form  treaties,  nor  declare  war,  nor  make 
peace,  without  the  consent  of  the  State  Governments. 
It  was  imbecile  and  inefficient,  a  mockery  and  a  nullity, 
and  was  soon  found  to  be  so.  A  Convention  was 
called  to  revise  and  re-adapt  its  deficiencies.  That 
Convention  met  in  1787,  in  Philadelphia,  and  their  first 
resolution  declared  that  a  "  national  government  ought 
to  be  established,  consisting  of  a  supreme  Legislature, 
Judiciary,  and  Executive."  Afterwards,  this  resolution 
was  so  altered  that,  instead  of  "  national,"  it  was  termed 
the  "  government  of  the  United  States,"  which  was  the 
name  and  style  of  the  confederacy.  The  present  Gov- 
ernment was  framed  and  sent  out  for  ratification,  not 
by  the  States  or  the  State  Legislatures,  but  by  the 
people  of  the  States  in  convention  assembled.  It  de- 
pended for  adoption  on  consent  and  agreement  /  but 
the  moment  that  it  was  adopted,  its  declarations  were 
fairly  confirmed.  These  declarations  are  not  of  a  league 
or  compact  between  the  States,  but  of  a  "  Constitution 
of  the  people  of  the  United  States."  The  language  of 
the  preamble  is  not  to  agree  or  stipulate,  but  to  "  or- 
dain and  establish."  It  declares  itself  to  be,  together 
with  the  "  laws  and  treaties  made  in  pursuance  thereof, 
the  supreme  law  of  the  land."  And,  as  if  to  give  un- 
mistakable emphasis  to  this  declaration,  it  adds,  "any 


400  UNION   OR  DISUNION. 

thing  in  the  Constitution  or  laws  of  any  State  to  the 
contrary  notwithstanding."  (Art.  6th.)  This  Consti- 
tution can  lay  and  collect  taxes,  impose  duties,  make 
treaties,  declare  war,  and  conclude  peace,  independently 
of  the  consent  of  the  States.  It  even  lays  injunctions 
on  the  State  Governments,  does  not  receive  such  from 
them.  It  tells  them  they  "  shall  not "  make  treaties, 
form  alliances  or  confederations,  coin  money,  pass  any 
bill  impairing  the  obligation  of  contracts,  engage  in  any 
war,  enter  into  compact  with  another  State  or  with  a  for- 
eign power,  keep  any  regular  troops,  maintain  any  navies. 
(Art.  1st,  section  10th.)  This  surely  is  not  the  lan- 
guage of  a  creature,  a  mere  agent  of  the  various  State 
Governments !  Washington  tells  us  "  that  it  is  utterly 
impracticable,  in  the  Federal  Government  of  these 
States,  to  secure  all  the  rights  of  independent  sover- 
eignty to  each,  and  yet  provide  for  the  safety  and  in- 
terest of  all."  (Letter  to  Congress  on  the  Constitution.) 
In  his  Farewell  Address  he  speaks  of  the  "  unity  of 
government  which  constitutes  us  one  people,"  and  of 
our  indissoluble  community  of  interest  as  one  nation. 

Mr.  Madison,  the  highest  authority,  in  his  letter  to 
the  editor  of  the  North  American  Review,  speaks  of 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  "  as  constituting 
the  people  thereof  one  people  for  certain  purposes,"  and 
as  an  instrument  which  cannot  be  altered  or  annulled 
at  the  will  of  the  States  individually.  The  fifteenth 
number  of  the  Federalist,  the  acknowledged  authorita- 
tive commentary  on  and  exposition  of  the  Constitution, 
penned  by  Mr.  Madison,  speaks  of  "  sovereignty  in  the 
Union,  and  complete  independence  in  the  States,  as  ut- 
terly repugnant  and  irreconcilable."  But  I  have  a 
more  pertinent,  if  not  a  higher  authority  still.  Mr. 
Calhoun,  in  his  celebrated  letter  to  Governor  Hamilton, 
uses  this  significant  language :  "  In  the  execution  of  the 


UNION   OE   DISUNION.  401 

delegated  powers,  the  Union  is  no  longer  regarded  in 
reference  to  its  parts,  but  as  forming  one  great  commu- 
nity, to  be  governed  by  a  common  will." 

I  cannot  pause,  fellow-citizens,  to  multiply  authori- 
ties. I  have  adduced  sufficient,  both  from  the  Consti- 
tution itself,  and  from  the  legacies  of  its  expounders 
and  fathers,  to  show  to  you  the  grounds  of  my  opinion 
that  it  is  not  a  mere  league  or  compact  between  the 
States,  but  the  supreme  law  of  the  land ;  and  that, 
too,  independently  of  State  constitutions  or  State  laws. 
These  are  facts  of  history.  I  tell  them  to  you  honestly 
and  truthfully.  If  they  are  unwelcome,  they  are  none 
the  less  true ;  and  I  cannot  be  held  responsible  for  tak- 
ing the  Constitution  for  that  which  I  know  it  to  be. 
And  I  may  here  add,  en  passant,  such  being  the  history 
and  interpretation  of  the  Constitution,  the  doctrine  of 
secession  finds  but  little  constitutional  sustenance. 

But  I  may  be  pointed  to  the  Virginia  Resolutions 
of  1798,  passed  to  denounce  the  odious  Alien  and  Sedi- 
tion laAvs  of  the  Adams  administration.  Being  penned 
by  Mr.  Madison,  I  cheerfully  defer  to  their  authority 
as  he  interprets  them — not  as  Nullifiers  and  Secession- 
ists interpret  them.  They  are  held  by  these  last  to 
assert  the  complete  independence  of  the  States  of  the 
General  Government,  and  as  covering  the  right  of  se- 
cession by  the  States  at  their  own  option.  If  this  be 
their  meaning,  I  reject  them  as  dangerous  and  Jacobin- 
ical. But  do  they  really  look  to  the  right  of  secession, 
or  to  the  resistance  of  the  laws  of  Congress  by  hostile 
States  ?  I  confess  that  they  wear  such  appearance,  and 
would  seem  to  contemplate  such  end.  But  the  drawer 
of  them  protests  against  such  interpretation,  and  the 
endorsers  of  them,  at  the  period  of  their  promulgation, 
deny  and  disclaim  any  such  inferences.  Mr.  Madison, 
in  the  letter  above  referred  to,  speaking  of  the  interpre- 


402 


UNION    OR   DISUNION. 


tation  thus  put  on  his  resolution,  says :  "  It  may  often 
happen  that  erroneous  constructions,  not  anticipated, 
may  not  be  sufficiently  guarded  against  in  the  language 
used."  And  again  he  says:  "That  the  Legislature 
could  not  have  intended  to  sanction  such  doctrine  (viz., 
nullification  and  secession),  is  to  be  inferred  from  the 
debate  in  the  House  of  Delegates,  and  from  the  address 
of  the  two  Houses  to  their  constituents."  Mr.  Monroe, 
then  Governor  of  Virginia,  in  his  message  relating  to 
these  resolutions,  and  referring  to  the  action  of  the 
Legislature  on  passing  them,  says,  "  they  looked  to  a 
change  in  public  opinion,  which  ought  to  be  free ;  not 
to  measures  of  violence,  discord,  and  disunion,  which 
they  (the  people  and  Legislature)  abhor."  The  mover 
of  the  resolutions  himself  declares,  "  The  appeal  is  to 
public  opinion ;  if  that  is  against  us,  we  must  yield." 
And  in  later  years,  a  distinguished  disciple  of  the  Vir- 
ginia school  of  politics  declared  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  when  alluding  to  these  resolutions,  "  The  whole 
object  of  the  proceedings  was,  by  the  peaceful  force  of 
public  opinion,  to  obtain  a  speedy  repeal  of  the  acts  in 
question,  not  to  oppose  or  arrest  their  execution  while 
they  remained  unrepealed."  (Speech  of  Hon.  Wm.  C. 
Rives,  in  1833.)  And  as  evidence  in  support  of  this 
interpretation,  I  may  here  add,  that  even  while  the 
resolutions  were  yet  before  the  people  of  Virginia,  de- 
nouncing the  laws  of  Congress  as  "unconstitutional 
and  dangerous,"  the  Sedition  Act  was  cruelly  enforced 
against  a  popular  favorite  and  protege  of  Mr.  Jefferson, 
in  their  very  capital,  and  by  one  of  the  most  brutal  and 
despotic  judges  that  has  ever  disgraced  the  ermine 
since  the  days  of  Jeffreys.  (State  Trials,  case  of  Cal- 
lendar,  page  688.)  So  much,  then,  for  these  resolu- 
tions ;  and  being  thus  interpreted,  I  willingly  receive 
them  as  high  authority. 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  403 

But  I  propose  to  examine  this  principle  of  secession 
still  more  minutely,  and  to  measure  it  by  the  terms  of 
the  Constitution.  I  must  say,  in  all  sincerity,  that  it 
seems  to  me  to  be  an  absurd  proposition  to  contend 
that  a  solemn  bond  of  government  and  of  union,  delib- 
erately formed,  should  contain,  as  one  of  its  essential 
features,  an  element  of  its  own  destruction  and  dissolu- 
tion. A  Constitution  designed  and  framed,  among 
other  purposes,  to  destroy  itself,  and  dissolve  the  Union 
which  was  the  prime  object  of  its  ordination  and  estab- 
lishment, could  have  been  formed  by  none  but  madmen 
or  Utopians,  and  could  never  have  received  the  solemn 
adoption  of  an  intelligent  and  sagacious  people.  Sup- 
pose a  State  could  secede  from  the  Union  at  its  own 
time,  and  by  its  own  option !  To  what  would  it  subject 
the  rest  of  the  States,  but  to  the  despotism  of  a  frac- 
tion, more  intolerable  and  arrogant  than  any  oligarchy 
that  ever  existed.  Well  may  Mr.  Madison  exclaim,  as 
in  the  letter  above  referred  to,  "  that  nothing  can  bet- 
ter demonstrate  the  inadmissibility  of  such  a  doctrine, 
than  that  it  puts  it  in  the  power  of  the  smallest  fraction 
to  give  the  law  and  even  the  Constitution  to  the  re- 
maining States ; "  each  claiming,  as  he  says,  "  an  equal 
right  to  expound  it,  and  to  insist  on  the  exposition." 
Such  a  bedlam  of  discord  would  never  before  have 
existed  to  curse  a  nation,  if  such  had  been  the  end  of 
the  present  Constitution,  and  the  design  of  those  who 
framed  it.  Greatly  would  I  have  preferred  a  re-estab- 
lishment of  the  old  Articles  of  Confederation,  to  such 
a  Constitution  as  these  secessionists  would  have  ours 
to  be. 

I  know  it  is  contended  that  certain  States,  as  Vir- 
ginia, New  York,  and  Rhode  Island,  claimed  and  re- 
served the  right  of  seceding,  at  their  own  pleasure,  in 
their  several  ratifications.  I  do  not  so  read  or  under- 


404  UNION    OE   DISUNION. 

stand  the  record.  They  would  not  have  been  admitted 
with  any  such  baneful  and  disorganizing  reservation, 
but  would  have  been  kept  out,  and  treated  as  aliens,  as 
they  deserved.  A  pretty  government  would  it  be, 
where  a  meagre  minority  of  the  people  could  claim  the 
supremacy  of  dictators  to  the  majority.  I  would  pre- 
fer, vastly,  the  sway  of  a  Czar  or  a  Sultan ;  because, 
under  either  of  the  last,  we  might,  at  least,  have  peace 
and  permanence — not  an  Italy  of  the  middle  ages,  cut 
up  by  parties  of  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines.  Such  a  gov- 
ernment, fellow-citizens,  as  secessionists  would  force  on 
you,  was  never  designed  by  a  Convention  over  which 
Washington  presided,  and  in  which  Madison,  and  Jay, 
and  Hamilton  were  principal  actors. 

But  did  these  States  make  any  such  reservation  ? 
Let  us  go  to  the  record,  and  take  it  by  its  plain,  com- 
mon-sense, usually  received  meaning.  I  find  in  the 
\  irgima  ibrm  of  ratification,  that  the  delegates  decided 
that  they  "  do,  in  the  name,  and  on  behalf  of  the  people 
of  Virginia,  declare  and  make  known  that  the  powers 
granted  under  the  Constitution,  being  derived  from  the 
people  of  the  United  States,  may  be  resumed  by  them 
whensoever  the  same  shall  be  perverted  to  their  in- 
jury or  oppression."  There  is  no  sophisticating  this 
declaration.  The  "people  of  Virginia"  declare  that 
"  the  powers  granted  under  the  Constitution  are  de- 
rived from  the  people  of  the  United  States."  That  is 
clear.  Virginia,  then,  does  not  claim  supremacy,  or 
even  individuality,  except  in  so  far  as  her  people  assent 
to  the  Constitution.  These  powers,  "  when  perverted," 
may  be  "  resumed,"  not  by  the  people  of  Virginia  alone', 
but  by  the  "  people  of  the  United  States."  That  is 
clear  also.  But  further  on  they  declare  that  they  (the 
delegates)  "do  ratify  the  Constitution,"  not  on  the 
condition,  but  "with  a  hope  of  amendments."  This 


UNION   OR  DISUNION.  405 

language  needs  no  explanation.  It  is  the  language  of 
unqualified  assent.  It  is  language  which  looks  to  any 
thing  else  than  the  right  of  States  to  secede  when  they 
please  from  the  Union.  (Elliott's  Deb.,  vol.  2,  p.  476.) 
But  New  York  presents  a  more  direct  refutation  of 
this  doctrine.  I  find  their  form  of  ratification  to  read 
thus:  "That  the  Constitution  under  consideration 
ought  to  be  ratified  by  this  Convention,  upon  condition 
nevertheless,"  &c. ;  among  which  conditions,  I  may 
say,  there  is  not  one  which  includes  secession.  Indeed, 
on  the  day  following,  a  delegate  moved  to  strike  out 
the  words  "  upon  condition,"  and  insert,  "  in  full  confi- 
dence /  "  and  the  motion  prevailed.  But,  as  if  to  clinch 
the  whole,  a  Mr.  Lansing  did  move,  when  the  final 
question  was  put,  to  adopt  a  resolution,  "that  there 
should  be  reserved  to  the  State  of  New  York  a  right 
to  withdraw  from  the  Union,  after  a  certain  number  of 
years,  unless  the  amendments  proposed  should  be  pre- 
viously submitted  to  a  general  Convention."  The  mo- 
tion was  promptly  and  largely  defeated.  This,  fellow- 
citizens,  would  not  seem  to  contemplate  secession.  (El- 
liott's Debates,  vol.  1,  p.  357.) 

Can  a  State  then  secede  ?  I  can  think  of  but  one 
way,  by  which,  under  the  Constitution,  this  can  be 
done,  and  that  is  by  "consent  of  Congress."  Even 
this  is  not  very  clear,  but  it  is,  I  think,  fairly  debatable. 
In  reflecting  on  the  subject,  and  investigating  its  mer- 
its, I  was  arrested  by  the  following  language,  found  in 
the  latter  clause  of  the  tenth  section  of  the  first  article 
of  the  Constitution :  "  No  State  shall,  without  the  con- 
sent of  Congress,  lay  any  duty  of  tonnage,  keep  troops 
or  ships  of  war  in  time  of  peace,  enter  into  any  agree- 
ment or  compact  with  another  State,  or  with  a  foreign 
power •,"  &c.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  any  contempo- 
raneous explanation  or  elucidation  of  this  latter  member 


406  UNION    OR   DISUNION. 

of  the  clause.  Indeed,  Mr.  Justice  Story,  in  his  admi- 
rable Commentaries  on  the  Constitution,  remarks,  as 
concerns  this  expression  :  "  What  precise  distinction  is 
here  intended  to  be  taken  between  treaties,  agreements, 
and  compacts,  is  nowhere  explained,  and  has  never,  as 
yet,  been  the  subject  of  any  exact  judicial  or  other  ex- 
amination." (Com.,  p.  512.) 

If,  however,  a  State,  by  consent  of  Congress,  may 
lay  a  "  duty  of  tonnage,"  the  same  power,  by  the  same 
construction,  and  under  like  consent,  may  form  a  "  com- 
pact with  a  foreign  power."  This  certainly  Implies  a 
separation  of  that  State  from  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment, in  some  shape ;  for  by  the  Constitution,  the 
President  and  two-thirds  of  the  Senate  alone  can  form 
a  compact  or  treaty  with  foreign  powers.  This,  fellow- 
citizens,  is  the  only  cloak  which  I  can  find  in  the  Con- 
stitution to  cover  the  doctrine  of  secession.  It  is  very 
remote,  and  implied  at  the  best.  It  is  a  bone,  however, 
at  which  its  advocates  may  gnaw,  with  entire  safety  to 
the  country  and  the  Union.  If  it  covers  their  doctrine, 
it  at  least  carries  along  a  previous  condition  which 
would  be  fatal  to  their  theory.  It  demands  a  subser- 
viency to  the  will  of  the  great  aggrieving  power,  which 
is  "  Congress."  They  may  make  the  most  of  it. 

I  have  other  questions  to  submit,  and  I  have  done. 
What  would  be  the  situation  of  a  seceded  State,  in  the 
presence  of  a  powerful  and  overshadowing  empire  like 
that  of  the  United  States — admitting,  that  is,  that  a 
State  may  peaceably  secede  ?  Why,  in  the  first  place, 
such  State  would  be  an  alien,  a  foreign  power,  having 
no  sympathy  or  interest  with  the  other  States,  and  no 
claims  upon  them.  Would  such  State  be  freer  or  more 
independent,  thus  dissevered  ?  Would  she  be  allowed 
to  exercise  a  single  attribute  or  privilege  of  sovereignty, 
when  we  chose  to  interfere  ?  And  would  we  not  inter- 


UNION    OR   DISUNION.  407 

fere  if  she  formed  any  alliance  with  a  foreign  power, 
prejudicial  to  our  interests,  or  that  might  be  dangerous 
to  our  liberties  ?  She  would,  in  fact,  be  a  mere  miser- 
able dependency,  constantly  watched  and  suspected  by 
an  all-powerful  neighbor,  liable,  at  any  time,  to  be  over- 
run and  subdued,  or  blockaded  and  invested  on  all 
sides,  so  that  she  could  not  move.  An  interior  State, 
like  Arkansas,  for  instance,  which  has  not  even  an  out- 
let or  seaport  of  her  own,  would  be  especially  ruined  in 
case  of  secession.  If  the  seceding  State,  as  is  more 
likely,  was  South  Carolina,  a  squadron  of  United  States 
cruisers  would  never  be  out  of  sight  of  Charleston  har- 
bor. It  most  likely  would  be  so  ordered  that  no  vessel 
could  enter  that  port  without  first  being  searched  by  a 
man-of-war  boat.  The  very  thought  of  such  disruption 
is  repulsive — the  picture  absolutely  humiliating.  But 
a  State  being  once  severed  from  the  protection  of  the 
Constitution  must  look  out  against  unpleasing  conse- 
quences. She  is  then  under  that  law  only  which  makes 
the  weaker  power  the  very  creature  of  the  greater. 
May  such  spectacle  never  disgrace  our  shores  ! 

This  brings  me  to  the  close  of  my  task.  I  have 
thought  that  I  see  enough  of  danger  in  the  dissemina- 
tion of  certain  doctrines  from  high  and  influential 
sources,  to  authorize  this  intrusion.  This,  at  least,  is 
my  apology,  if  I  shall  encounter  uncharitable  criticism 
or  rebuke.  The  good  and  wholesome  doctrine  of  true 
State  rights  has,  in  my  opinion,  been  perverted  to  sub- 
serve unlawful  ends.  I  have  been  raised  to  venerate 
the  true  State  rights  doctrine,  but  not  those  which  lead 
to  disruption,  and  unconstitutional  resistance  of  the 
laws  of  the  General  Government.  It  is  still  my  pride 
to  claim  affinity  with  that  enlightened  school  of  politi- 
cians ;  but  when  they  so  torture  the  teachings  of  the 
early  fathers  as  to  ally  with  disunionists  and  secession- 


408  UNION    OR  DISUNION. 

ists,  under  a  counterfeit  of  their  ancient  sacred  banner, 
I  part  company  with  them.  I  believe  that  it  is  right  to 
inculcate  the  doctrine  of  State  sovereignty  as  assumed 
by  Madison,  and  to  guard  against  the  tendencies  to 
consolidation.  I  confess,  however,  that  I  see  but  little 
danger  of  the  last.  I  never  felt  such  danger,  except 
during  the  iron  dominion  of  Gen.  Jackson.  Such  dan- 
ger is  more  to  be  feared  in  connection  with  resolute 
and  over-popular  men,  the  pampered  pets  of  a  powerful 
party,  than  in  any  undue  tendencies  of  the  Government. 
In  conclusion,  fellow-citizens,  I  am  unable  to  see 
any  thing  so  ominous  in  the  present  aspect  of  our  na- 
tional affairs  as  will  authorize  us  to  go  about  banding 
and  marshalling  the  States  for  a  crusade  against  the 
action  of  the  General  Government — especially  under 
the  lead  of  such  Hotspurs  as  I  perceive  to  be  at  the 
head  of  the  resistance  forces.  I  am  a  Southerner  by 
birth  and  education — a  Southerner  in  pride  of  land  and 
in  feeling — a  Southerner  in  interest,  and  by  every  tie 
which  can  bind  mortal  man  to  his  native  clime ;  and  I 
shall  abide  the  destinies  of  the  South.  But  I  venerate 
the  Federal  Constitution.  I  love  the  Union.  I  love 
the  first  for  its  beneficent  protecting  influence  and 
power ;  I  love  the  last  for  its  proud  and  glorious  asso- 
ciation with  all  that  is  dear  to  an  American  heart. 


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